Skip to main content

Full text of "The Strand Magazine: An Illustrated Monthly"

See other formats


mornantifo lifirorn 

Jhfcrraru *f 

iTrrortfitftt Hmtorsitii. 

paying $a„w a year ior aupucaw privilege, 

by Google 

Original from 




An Illustrated Monthly 



Vol. L 


Q 4r>r>l7:j 

Xon&Ott : 




by Google 

Original from 


— ■ i m — 

ACROSTICS, TH E BEST , , . . . . , , „ „ . . //. Cuthbert SwtL %* 

AMBITIONS MayEdpnton. 430 

[lhi&Lratiims Uy Lewis Haunter. * 


Illustrations from Drawing*. 

" AS FUNNY AS THEY CAN " . . . . ,.. . . . . By Eminent Black- and -White Artists. 794 

Illustrations from Dm wings. 

BIRDS TO MAN, THE VALUE OF ., , Jams Btvkhmd* 283 

Decorated l>y Charles Robinson. 

BLOOD MONEY + , , , . , . . . Austin Philips. 294 

Illustrations by Emilc Verpitkux. 

BOGDAN 5HIPKIN ,, „ from the Russian vj l\ Ntmirmich Danchtnko. 243 

Illustrations by Warwick Reynolds. 


Churchill, Winston mm ., m •- ijfi 

George, David Lloyd .. ., .. „. 15 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

CANTERBURY CANDLES I ICK, THE . . .., . . . , , . . . Sylm Ckatfield Bates. 36; 

Illustrations hy W. Haifacr~ll» R.l. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 

COMPETITION IN THE " CASTLEBAR," THE T , >, Motley Roberta 603 

Illustrations by W, 1 1 rath Robinson, 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from E>r&wme5. 
CONJURERS OF ALL COUNTRIES „ „ Frederic Culpitt. 631 

Illustrations from Diagrams, 
CORNERING MR. COBB , . .. r , , Lloyd Osboume. 62 

Illustrations, by Lewis Baumer< 
CRIME ON RECORD ? WHAT IS THE CLEVEREST. A Symposium of Well known Crimmolnyists. 675 

Illustrations by G. Henry Evi-ion. 

CRYSTAL TRENCH, THE .. ., .. A. E. W. Alawn. 746 

Illustrations by G. Henry Evison. 

CURIOSITIES.. *, .. . * ** , ,, j 20 > 240, 360^80, 000, 799 

Illustrations from Photographs 

DEEP SEA, LIVING WONDERS OF THE, Some Striking Recent Discoveries . . Chrteland Mvffett. 92 

Illustrations from Photographs* 
DEPTHS OF OUR LAKES AND SEAS, THE, Loth* DeqxT 1h:ui Sens ,, „ b. r Lfcvd Itfanis, V7 

Illustrations by W, E. WigfulL 
DRAWINGS, AMONG MY- A Chat about Collecting Waller Emanuel 5S8 

Illustrations from Drawings, 

ENCHANTED ORANGES, THE. A Story for Children A.H. Greenwood. 350 

Illustrations by H. R. Millar ► 
EN ROUTE , . * ♦ P/iifiP Ptescoft Eroti. 202 

Illustrations by Arthur William Brown, 
EXILES, THE .... . . . ... Fetter a! GMotj. 77 

Illustrations by Gerald Le ike, R.RA. 

EXPLORERS, THE ,. . . . . , . . . . H. B. Mar iotf \\ nison. 45 

Illustrations by G. Henry Evison. 


Illustrations from Drawings by Sir Thomas Lawrence, P. R.A, 

EYE-WITNESS IN LONDON, Un -Censored Communiques ♦ *, .. *. .* 20 

A Series of Drawings by A. R. Macdonald. 

FAMILY CARES ., W.W.Ja&bs, 170 

IHustratiuns by Will Omen. 

FOR BELGIUM .. .. -._ -■ j. f. Bell. 161 

Illustrations by Dudley Tennanl. 

FORTY YEARS IN THE HOUSE tht Rizht Hon, Thomas Burt, ALP, 492 

GALWAY INTRUDES Frederick Stuart (heme. 1 23 

Illustrations bv Etnile Verpilleuxn 

GERMAN CARICATURES OF " KULTUR * Waller Kitl&mei. 389 

Illustrations from Drawings. 

GERMANY'S WAR MEDALS .. .. ,- .. Sir Whitwvth IVallte. 5*4 

Illustrations from Phoiugraphs. 

GLASTON BURY SCANDAL, THE . . . ♦ h, A tskiU 660 

Illustrations by Stanley Davis, 

GOATS, CLIMBING FOR - ■ ■ StfWrt Edward 11 Ai>, 153 

II lustration a by Q. Henry Evbofi, 

rv • «<h (~*r\r\cs\i* Originalfrom 






Illustrations by K* 5* Hodgson. 

illustrations, bj Warwick Key no Ids. 


Perceval Gibbon. 40^ 

Prom the Russian vj Count Tolstoy. 464 

IDLE FELLOW, THE, A Russia hairy TuW 

Jltuitr;iLirjT!H by W b Htalh Kobinson. 


]!.'=-.! 1! Li 11- by Alfred L**t^ 

INDIAN HERCLLES, THE. J lie Amazing Feats of Professor Rama Murti Nuidu. 

IRREGULAR FORCES. A Story of Chess and War . . 

I!l!u^tr;iii-..iiv by Warwick Reynolds. 

JACK, OR THE GOLDEN SNUFFBOX. A Fairy Story for Children 
IUu*tration£ by W* Heath Robinson. 

LAKES AND SEAS, THE DEPTHS OF OUR, Lochs Deeper than Seas .. 
II lustrations by W, E WigfulL 


1 [lustrations by Trcycr Evans. 

-. 114 

. . Parry Pain* 273 

S a 1 n i N thai Singh. 69 1 

h'aytnund Allen. 698 


E. I Ami Morris. 317 

P. (i. \Wdehouse. 379 


Illustrations by Alfred Leett 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by knii]e Verpillemt. 
MIXER, THE .. .. .. 

I II mstrations by j. A. Shepherd* 

Itlgstr aliens by AlfrH Le^le* 


Illustrations by Graham Sunrooiu. 

Illustration* by W. T. Ueuda. 


A Mascot Mermaid * 

A Hi max Telescope 

England TiiRorfiji Japanese Eyes .. 

A Diamond Problem . . 

M The Best War Story I Have Heard 

Is Yoi R FOOD Pl:RE ? .. 

TilK Ckntenarv of Troisers 

The Finest Feats en Chess History 

A Downy Old Bird 

The First Cycle Made for Two, or the Lovers' Sociable 
Reversible Mt sic 

The " Walking Fish " . . , . 

* By Oir Readers " 

Illustrations from Old Prints and PhotoRrapbs- 


Illustrations by Frank Gillctl, KT- 

O. Henry, 3 1 3 

l.aitreitr Tsyter. 510 


Hay dm Church* 252 

- . James Barr w 50 1 

P. G. U'cdehouse. 515, 729 

O. Henry. 1 30 

Albert Darrington* 712 

L. Frank Tavker* 


Herbert Vivian, 
L \ L. Md liter Stevens. 

S. Leonard Bastitt* 



//, Watts* 769 

Captain Herbert C. Kent. 772 





, Menrgt R. Sims* 42 c, 540 

John T. Tits solid* 556 
John J. Ward, F.E.S* 74 



Illustration* from Phonographs. 

IV. — The Duel of the Male Sticklebacks. 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

OBSERVATION IN WAR. THF VALUE OF. A Lcctu re Addressed to all Scouts m timing. 

Illustrations frotr Dia Rrams and Photographs. Fttdk* b. Cv&ke. I 79 
OGRES OF OJEJAMA. THE. A Story for Children fmm the JftTittucse . . * . $$A 

Illustrations by W. Hrath Ko imson. 

OTHER WOMAN, THE . . , . William T r Nichols, 392 

Illustrations by W. S + Bapdatoputas, 

PALMISTS AND PALMISTRY, THE TRUTH ABOUT. A Palmists Revelations. Herbert lttingtmtk* 332 
Illustrations from Photographs, and a Drawing by SlBtltep Davis* 

PAVILION, I HE ,, . *■ -■ E.Kfsbit. s&i 

Illustrations hy James DnrnVn- 
PERFLEX1 TIES, A Fa^e cf Purees 

DhjstrauonN. from Oia£niniR- 

PETER SAfNT .. .. /T> 

llWraliLHW by Dudley Ttii/i^m, 

.(\A , \ 458968 

Henry E. Ihtdetley. 1 13. Zio, $tt), 475, 593 




!S"r'fSS5 A - ^^""^* 1 

FiovnffinsBteisr*.'. .. : :; :; ;; :: :: ,;, l „^„,.; £ 

Illu&trAtions by G. Henry Kvison. " 


UuftT, HP,, The Right Hot*, Thomas , . JO , 

Chubchill, M + P., Tiik Right Hon. Winston . . , 2 

Ciu^e, M<P„ The Right Hon. Davji> Lloyd . ,r 

Irvini:, Mr. and Mrs. H, B, m " " * 

Taylor, Laurette *T* 

lllu sr rations from Photwriiuh^ 
RESURGAM ..... „ ,. tM EJ 

I II titrations by VVarwiLk Reynolds 

REVUE, THE VOGUE OF THE. A Symposium of i lie Views of Fundus Authors en the Secreis of 

buece^ful Revue Wnting , t ,^ 

Illustrations from Photography 

KIVALS t7 1IE - , ,V„ * lnuin rbih/a. **; 

Illustrations by Dudley Jriiinui " 

ROMANCE OF A BUSY BKOKKk. Til K ^.// rWv , ^ 

Illustrations by A. K. Macdonald,. 
RUINS OR RESTORA1 JONS f A Symposium oJ Eminent Men ot France ami Lteleium *. . ♦ . . 7*8 

lUmtamooo from Photographs. 

SAM BRIGGS BECOMES A SOLDIER R i(ha rd Hattk, 23. 2 . ., >«. A4 % S&*. 6 j6 

Illustration by Char kx Pears, " * 

SAM'S GHOST . tt'.ir./^, |j9 

1 3 luslrat iora by W ii I Owen. 

SCRAPS OF PAPeA, SOME „ tlU „ EwanHtL i1o 

111 us t ration n from Drawings. 

« SPOOF " ON RECORD, THE BIGGEST NEWSPAPER^!. ... * . . . . . " CwUm* 7cn 

Illustration* from Photographs. 


Illustrated from Photographs. 


Illustrations by Thomas Somcr field, 


Illustrations from Photographs. 

STUPIDER AND STUPIDER. A Story for Children from the Slavonic .,476 

Illustrations by W. Heath Robinson* 

TAKE HER OUT May Ed R mio*. (* S 

J I lustra lions by Lewis B&umer. 

"TOMMY" ,. ... „ I trt ld M. Methley. 


Jiiusir^u^ns by Stan ley LJavis. 

TRADE THAT NO ONE KNEW, THE . , „ . . h'ttM by biorcna Tafwtt /torn the Strhum. 788 

Illustrations by H. FL MiMar. 

TRAMP AND THE TIGER, THE ,. . .. Ahrley Roberts. 3 

Illustration* by Harry R oh n tree 

"UNCLE RITCHIE." One cif Life's Ironies .. .. *. mw .. «. Mary Tennyson, 530 

Illustrations by Warwick Reynolds. 

UNRECORDED CASES. C7;*ti You Si,kr Thc-m f . , , . . . , . . . Iletiry & Dudettcy. 783 

I Hi mi 1. :« Mi hi ■ from iJia^iMms, 


A Series of Drawings hy W. Heath Robinson, 
WAR MEDALS, GERMANY'S. Commemoration d the ?;ill of Paris and Ibe Great Naval Victory ot 

Scarborough! , , Sit IVhttu erth IVattis. 524 

Illustrations from Photographs, 

WAR STORY I HAVE HEARD, THE REST Hy Our Readers 238.473,504 

II In st rations from Drawings 

WAR, THE LIGHTER SIDE OF . , . , , . $15 

Illustrations from Drawing*. 

WAR, TIIK VALUE OF OBSERVATION IN. A Lecture addressed in all Seoul* in Training 

IthufrfttHMf front Dingrairj|i and Photogrsipb^ itedk G Caokf J70 

WAR TIME. AN OUTIN« I IN . . . . . . L Conan U*yir t - 373 

!LUi£tr+itioTiA by Alfred l^cte. 
WEATHER-TELLERS, SOME HOME-MADE . , .. IVrrttt n «u<i Ufa Mated bv S. Lfuttard Hastm. ^6 
WHAT MEN LIVE BY Ftam the Russian &f Count Tvlstey. 054 

Illustrations by Thomas SunjerfiekL 

WILTON'S HOLIDAY P.C*. Wodefawsr. Oj, 

- Illustrations by Lewis b^umcr. 

WINGS FOR A DAY . . . . . , ,. Sydney Proton. 323 

tllust rations b}" Walter j. Kuri^bt. 

liEOB^F ^JF'^v^h.^ p ii\iirfi.. 

If'Mkll-l, AMI FXI^IFR vhfF WJ 'sWa IsWr l.ONhUK, hM-lANl). 


C^f\r%ct\i* Original from 





by GoOgic 

Original from 



Illustrated, oy Harry Rountree. 

HEN the Star of the East had 
taken her lumber aboard at 
Yladivostock, she hauled out 
from her berth and anchored 
in the bay. She was an ol il- 
ia s hi on cd three -masted ocean 
tramp, and belonged to an 
owner who did not believe a ship could be 
a ship unless she could sail when she couldn't 
steam. But otherwise she was built for 
business and not for pleasure. Mr. Sadler, 
her chief mate, and Mr, Quin, her second 
mate ; were agreed upon this point, though 
they were of extremely different dispositions. 
The only person on board entirely satisfied 
with the tramp and himself was Captain 
Cradgett, He was still ashore in Yladivostock 
when the sun went down, and the two mates 
sat and smoked in the chart-house. 

i{ What I want to do is to pet into the 
passenger trade, sir, just as soon as I can/' 
said Mr. Quin, as he lighted another cigarette. 
t[ As you so frequently say, it's not exeitin' 
in this kind of trade^ and there's nobody to 
speak to," 

Mr. Sadler nodded, and then shook his 
head in the most me Ian (holy manner. 

" Ah/' he said t *' I thought I was goih' to 
have an exeitin 1 time, too. wh-ii I went to 
sea. Once when I was in Liverpool a very 
nice young woman said to me, ' How exeitin' 
it must be to go to sea. Mr. Sadler,' And 
what I said to her was, * Exeitin' ! Oh, miss, 
you think its exeitin', do you ? Uhv\ my 
dear, it's dull — dull to a degree. Drivin* a bus 
in the White chapel Road is far more exeitin" 
and joyous. 5 She couldn't understand that," 

" Whyj yes*- sir, n j said the second mate, 



eagerly; " but somethin* always may 
happen, you know, Sometimes I wish 
1 hadn't been a sailor at all, but a 

" What would you have travelled 
in ? u asked Mr. Sadler. 

" I dont mean that sort of tra 
veller/' said the second mate. " 1 
mean wanderin' about on land, with 
real adventures/' 

%± They dont happen so thick even 
on land," said the melancholy chief 
mate. " Don't you rely on books, 
Mr. Quin, to tell the truth about land 
any more than about the sea, 7J 

M Well, but there's big-game huntinV 
said the second mate* ** Surely that's 

"Is it ? " asked the incredulous 
mate, u As far as I've read it amounts 
to hidin' up a tree all night and cat chin' 
colds and cramps. And how would 
you like to face a tiger ? Oh, a tiger 
would disgruntle you. It's a very 
awkward animal , a tiger/' 

tf I don't know that I ever actually 
saw one," said Mr. Quin + " But with 
a good gun " 

"Did you say you newer saw a 
tiger ? ?! interrupted Mr. Sadler, with 
peculiar earnestness. 

" Well, no, I never actually did/' said 

" Ah/' said the first mate, with an air 
of the deepest thought, " but you can see 
number two hatch, Mr. Quin can't you ? ] 

" Well, I can if I get up/' replied the 
second mate. 

" And it's all clear of lumber, ain't it ? '' 
asked Mr. Sadler, 

" Yes, sir," said the second mate. " Wasn't 
I wonderin 1 why Captain (radgett insisted 
on keepin* number two clear ? There might 
have been a deck load there as well as any- 
where else, 51 

Mr, Sadler looked at him with a very strange 
expression and shook his head. 

" Oh, no. there mightn't/' he said, firmly, 
u That's where you 1 re off it, Mr* Quin." 

" Off it — why, sir ? " asked the second 

" Yes, off it — a long way off it/' repealed 
Mr, Sadler. " Number two hatch is bein' 
kept clear fur i cage, Mr + Quin/' 

" A what ? " asked the astonished second 

" I said a cage," repeated the melancholy 
mate. *' The captain would do it, though 
I urged h ; m not to with tears in my eyes." 

"Not to what, sir?" asked Quin, in- 

'* Why, just what I said/' repeated Mr, 
Sadler, out of an even thicker gloom, 

"Oh, no; you haven't said yet what the 
cage is for/' said the second mate, 

11 Bless my soul ! " said Mr. Sadler. £l Don't 
I keep tellin 1 you it's for a tiger ! " 

£1 For a tiger ? !7 asked the second mate, 
in great astonishment, 

" Why, yes, Mr, Quin. a three parts grown 
tiger; a clouded Manduirian tiger they call 
It," said theVMFHMepfflbbins! his forehead 



thoughtfully. " Were takin' it to Calcutta 
for the Rajah of Jugpore. I do hope it 
wont get out. If that tiger did get out, 
Mr. Quin, you could have all the huntin' for 
me. I'd be up aloft as far as I could get. 
That's where IV1 be. But I suppose it'd 

" ' he'll be out or it ove op days,' SAID MR. saolkr. 


tickle you to death to hunt a tiger with a 
hand-spike in the middle of the Indian Ocean." 

u Yes, it'd he awkward if he did get out," 
said Quin, cheerfully, (f At least, I suppose 

The next morning a lighter was towed by 
a tug alongside the tramp. On board the 
lighter was a big cage, and in the tug was 
Captain Cradgett, When he had got on 
board the tramp he climbed up to the bridge 
andj rubbing his hands cheerfull) 


" Well, there you are, Mr, Sadler, This 
finishes us at this forsaken place. You can 
sign for one three- parts-grown clouded Man- 
churian tiger, shipped in good condition, with 
the end of his tail in doubt," 
" I beg your pardon, sir/' said Mr* Sadler, 
as if he hadn't quite understood what 
was said to him ; " but why's the end 
of his tail in doubt?" 

4 Because he got it nipped ptittin' 
it out when he was bein' lowered 
into the lighter," said Captain Crad- 
gett* "He made a deal of fuss about 
it, and kept on turnin' round to look 
at it in the most surprisin' way. So 
make out the receipt as I'm telluV 

The cage looked a good strong cage* 

It was made of hard 

wood, clamped here 

and there with iron* 

11 He'll never get 

out of that ? J> said 

C a p t a i n Cradgett , 

joyously, when the 

tiger stood on his 

hind legs and clawed 

at his bars. "But 

he looks awfully 

as if he'd like to 

eat a sailor- man, 

don't he ? What 

do you think of 

him 5 Mr.Quin?'> 

"Oh, he's 

splendid," said 

the second mate, 

with enthusiasm. 

"He's all righs 

as long as het 

inside that cage," 

said Mr. Sadler, 


" It'll be your 
business and Mr, 
Macintosh's to 
see he stays 
inside/'' said the 
skipper. " I m to get a premium on him 
if I deliver him safe. They offered him to 
Captain Parker, of the Rising Sun, and to 
Watts, of the Tower of London f and they 
wouldn't have him," * 

And half an hour later the Star of the East 
was on her way to Calcutta, with sawed 
lunil>er, some soya beans, a few hales of silk, 
and one tig.T in good condition, though one 
of the joints of his tail was still in doubt. 
The crowd "tetife afl iTOgfcty interest in the 



1 SEK ] [ 


tiger, and spent most of the second dog watch 
every evening sitting round him romancing. 
A tough from Liverpool, called Ryan, said 
he'd rather face that tiger than the mate of 
the Wanderer. He said that facing that tiger 
would be a joyous picnic after sailing in 
a Cape Horner with a mate whose only 
exercise was knocking sailurmen down and 
kicking them up. 

As a ship must have a subject to talk about, 
the tiger was their chief joy all the way 
down the China coast and through the Straits 
of Malacca into the Indian Ocean, and even 
till they were close up with the Nicobars, 
And if they talked about it in the fo'c'sle it 
was equally talked of by the skipper and 
his mates* Captain Cradgett said lie was 
beginning to get very fond of it. But Mr* 
Sadler was nervous when he saw the tiger 
sharpening his claws. 

" He'll be out of it one of these days." 
said Mr* Sadler. " I see it in his hopeful 

" You're takin' a sad view of things, sir/' 
said the optimistic Quin. 

LS I never was a hopeful man," replied the 
miserable Mr. Sadler. *' I made a mistake 
comin 1 to sea. Oh ? it is that dull/ 1 

" But you take a kind of pleasure in thinkin' 
about him gettin* out/' said Quin. M If he 
did we'd catch him again/' 

4t Ah." said the chief mate, u and what's 
your plan for dealin 7 with a large tiger loose 
on a deck load, and him hungry enough to 
scoff a ring-bolt ? " 

M What's my plan, sir ? 3T asked the second 
mate. ** Why, I'd skin up aloft and think 
about it," said Mr. Quin, lightly. 

But the chief mate shook his head. 

w It's a very good plan, too, only it ain't 
exactly genius," he grunted. " I could have 
thought of that myself. But supposin 1 the 
tiger climbed the ratlines, what would your 
piafl be then ? " 

" I'd go up aloft higher still, of course/' 
said the second mate. 

* ( But supposin' he followed you ? " urged 
Mr. Sadler, 

l( When I couldn't go any farther 1 should 
jump overboard , I suppose, 11 said Quin. 

The chief mate shook hi.s head agiiin. 

" 1 think nothin' whatever of that part of 
your plan," he retorted, " I cant swim. 
Now, I've got a much letter plan than that, 
Mr, Quin. for my notion is to get the cage 
strengthened* Well see what Macintosh 
has got to say about it to-morrow. If I had 
my way I'd rouse up a cable and pass it 
round and round and round &nd round that 


cage until the tiger got perfectly hopeless. 
I hale to see a tiger in a cage so full of hope 
as that tiger is." 

It certainly seemed, when Great Nicobar 
was close aboard on the port bow, and the 
captain was telling the mates of the adventures 
ho had had there in a sailing ship in the early 
days, that it was time to take precautions. 
But Captain Cradgett was an optimist, and 
so was Mr, Quin, Mr, Sadler's pessimism, 
although far-reaching and very thorough, did 
not save him. Indeed, as he once remarked 
blackly to Captain Cradgett, there is nothing 
like being too thorough for making a man 
late for his market, just as Captain Cradgett 
was enlarging upon the miserable appearance 
and character of the inhabitants of the Great 
Nicobar, there was an awful squeal and uproar 
in the tiger's cage, and when the " old man " 
and his mates looked down on number two 
hatch they saw the clouded Manchurian three- 
parts through the bars. 

Though he was momentarily detained by 
them closing on his hindquarters, there was 
every sign that he would be out in two shakes 
of a lamb's tail. It was quite easy to under- 
stand what the tiger was saying without an 
interpreter, and Captain Cradgett, although 
he was so stout, translated his message into 
motion before either of his mates. Although 
he had rarely been alolt since he was a second 
mate, he made a run and jump for the fore- 
rigging, and skipped up it as fast as if he 
were a boy with a bo'sun behind him. Inside 
fifteen seconds the distribution of the crew 
was as follows* The captain and both his 
mates were on the foreyard, Ryan and Jim 
Cook, the Cockney, were on the main cross- 
trees, while the greater number of the crew 
were shut up in the fo'c'sle. The took was in 
his galley, armed with an ineffective saucepan ; 
the steward was trembling in the saloon, and 
the whole engine-room outfit, not having been 
able to shut the deck door, were hastily 
heating si ice -bars in the furnace with a view 
to keeping the narrow iron stairs if the tiger 
came that way. For now the tiger was free, 
after one final struggle which had the result 
of putting some of his fur in doubt. But at he showed no anger, only a great 

4C Walks gracefully , don't he ? " said Mr. 
Quin, eagerly. 

" I ain> admirin' his walk any/' said 

the captain, angrily. " Didn't you tell me, 

Mr, Quin, that Mr. Macintosh was gohr to 

reinforce that cage with iron bars ? Why 

didn't he do it ? Why didn't you see that he 

did it ? And, Mr. Sadler, whv d dn't vou listen 
Original from * * 



to me when I was always tcllin' you 
that he might get out ? " 

Mr* Sadler said nothing, He 
thought all this was most tfnjust 
on the part of the skipper. But 
he was always prepared for in- 

" The thing is/' he said, pre 
sently, " to know what we're 
gcin* to do/' 

" Well, and what are we 
goin' to do ? " asked the 

iS Ask me another, sir/' 
said the mate, bitterly. 
u You can't expect me to 
deal with him. But I 
dare say Mr. Quin's got 
a plan ; he always lets 
on he has one." 

*'Oh T no ? " said Quin, 
modestly ; *' oh, no. 
My plan went no 
farther than what I 
said yesterday, Mr. 

" And how far 
was that? *' asked 




ric;o|Nc; " 

by Google 

the captain, 
showing some 
" All I said was 
I'd skin up aloft 
and think/' said 
" Well didn't I do 
as much as that he- 
fore you ? " asked the 
skipper, angrily, tL and 
without takin' any time 
to consider it either. 
And now you're up here, 
can you think ? " 
11 I cant think if Tin 
hurried, sir/' urged Mr. 
Quin. " But I think we 
ought to be able to lure him 
back somehow. We might 
lure him back with sx>me meat 
if we had it." 
" Yes, if we had it," said the 
captain, savagely, 
11 Yes, it's a very good idea/' 
said the second mate. 
And then he rubbed his chin. 
41 Oh, if we only had a cowboy 
with a lariat that he could put over 
" Yes, that's a very useful plan/' 
snorted the kipper, " But whore's 
the cowboy and his outfit ? " 
11 1 believe I've almost got the idea," 
said Sadler, brightening up just 
a little for the first time for 
da vs. " but I own it comes out 
of what Mr. Quin says. Sup 
pose we roped him. sir ? " 

" Yes, and what with ? " 
asked the skipper, who grew 
more and more nervous. 

The mate turned to Mr, 

+ You understand me, Mr, 
Quin ? " 

lL Of course, sir/ 1 said Quin. 
l * Suppose we try and catch him in a runnin' 
bowline ? What do you think of that ? ?1 

" That's what I meant;' said Mr. Sadler, 
looking as unhappy as if he was going to 
hang with it. 

ik Yes, and that's what I meant," said Quin, 
1 when I talked about a cowboy and a lariat. 
I was com in* to it." 

u Talk, talk, talk/* said the skipper, con- 
temptuously. " Who's gonV to put it over 
him ? Here you talk and talk, and nothin* 

Original from 



By this time the tiger, having sniffed every 
hole and corner for'ard, made a couple of 
bounds and began to investigate the bridge 
and the chart- house. He displayed all the 
characteristics of the cat tribe when in new 
surroundings. Presently he looked up and 
saw the three men overhead, and deliberately 
spat at them and said something that sounded 
like "Hrrrrhh!" 

" He seems angry/ 5 said the skipper, u Do 
you think he'll come up ? " 

As he spoke he prepared, if necessary, to 
ascend to the topsail yard. But Mr, Quin 
thought it was unlikely the tiger would try 
to climb up aloft while he smelt so many 
men down below. At that Mr. Sadler nodded 
as many times as a Chinese mandarin. 

" Didn't I say at Vladivostock, sir, that 
I wouldn't take one if I was you ? " he asked, 
'* I'm not like Mr. Quin here, who brags he 
wants to go big game hunt in'/' 

<{ Oh, does he ? " asked the skippeT. M Then 
here's his chance. You can have it all for me, 
Mr, Quin/' 

And Quin felt it was up to him to deal 
with the tiger or perish, 

<( Come, Quin, w T e rely on you, so think — 
just think/' said the chief mute. 

" Wr 11." said Quin, rather unhappily, " I am 
thinking thmkin* turd, Mr. Sadler/* 

" Don't forget/' said Mr. Sadler, " that all 
hands are relyin 1 on us, lookin' to us, and 
mainly to Captain Cradgett, for help and 
assistance in distress," 

11 Yes, here we are up aloft, and I don ? t like 
hein T up aloft, 7 ' said the unhappy skipper. 
" It doesn't suit me. Though now I'm glad 
she's got good sticks in her, and no mistake 
about that." 

He sat on the yard, facing aft ? with his 
arm about the mast. On the other side sat 
Mr, Sadler. Mr, Quin, with his feet jammed in 
the narrow upper ratlines of the rigging, 
did his best to think. Presently he looked 

" I want a cigarette, Mr- Sadler," he said. 
" I can't ever think without onu/' 

ik Hut do you think you can think if you do 
get one ? * h asked the " old man/' 

Lt Oh, yes T I'm sure of it, sir/ 1 said Mr t Quin, 

" Then here you are," said the skipper, 
reluctantly producing his case* " And I hope 
they'll work," 

The first one didn't, and the second didn't, 
And in the meantime the tiger didn't seem 
to care two straws for the way the plan-making 
Mr, Quin fixed him with his eye. Quin Seemed 
to feel that he couldn't make a plan about 
the tifjer without the tiger being in sight. He 

explained that to the skipper and Mr, Sadler 
when they groused about his slowness. 

" And have you got another cigarette, 
sir ? " he asked, presently* 

" Well, take a few more/' said the skipper, 
ungraciously, " and heave ahead. And if 
you de make a plan, 111 give you fifty/' 

And presently the second mate looked up 
at them with a strange expression on his face. 
It was rather like the breaking dawn in 
summer. He had a heavenly smile, or so 
he sometimes told Mr. Sadler, He knew it, 
because the girls said so. 

" Have you got it, Mr. Quin ? " asked Mr. 
Sadler > with a pessimistic sniff, 

" Oh, Mr, Quin, have you pot it? ?J asked 
the skipper, brightening with hope. 

And suddenly the second mate's face clouded 
over again. 

" 1 1 nought I had — I thought I very nearly 
had, J he said, lamelv, 

1 Come, light another cigarette;" said the 
skipper, feeling he might as well go all n. 

And this time it seemed as if the c-garette 
worked. Dawn broke in glory on Qtrn's 
face. It was just as if the sun had lifted 
its upper limb out of the darkness and shot 
gleaming spokes into the zenith flecked here 
and there with faint fleeces of shining rose, 
the harbingers of glorious day, 

" Yes T I've got it, I've got it ! J1 said the 
enthusiastic second mate, u Oh, it h s a heavenly 
plan, sir, and it's the only plan ! I see that now. 
There isn't any other way to do it— oh, there 
isnt any other way to do it ! " 

" Well, what is it ? " asked the skipper. 
(1 Come, out with it ! Don't keep us up here, 
you know/* 

" Yes, what is it ? y} said Mr, Sadler. 
" Let\s hear it/' 

i( Oh, it's a most gorgeous plan/ 1 said 
Quin, with an air of self-gratulation, which 
almost shone like a halo. 

And then again the sun's upper limb seemed 
a little clouded. A flicker of doubt passed 
across Mr. Quin's boyish and charming face. 
He siud : — 

" Yes, it's all right— if it works/' 

il Oh, if it works ? " said the skipper. 
" After all my cigarettes you tell me you've 
got a gorgeous plan if it works ! If I had a 
pinch of salt I suppose I might drop it on 
the tiger's tail and see if that worked. Oh, 
you do disappoint me/' 

And once again the second mate's face 
lighted up. The sun seemed to rise clear of 
all obstacles. He opened his eyes wide, and 
said ;— 

* ( Yes, siC^iwitfebftpflm^r it wotM mfflj " 



11 With a what ? ■■ asked the sceptical 

4i Why, with a spreader, of course , sir/* 
said the second mate. 

" And what would work with a spreader ? " 
asked the captain. 

** Why, what I've been tellin' you, sir/' 
said Quin, who had really been thinking so 
hard that he had come to the conclusion that 
they had heard the wheels working. But 
the skipper retorted on him : — 

" Well, I ain't able to look into your 
daTk mind, Mr, Quin. All that you've let on 
is that it would work with a spreader- What 
would work with a spreader ? " 

li Why ? a runnin' bowline, sir," said Mr, 
Quin, " stopped with yarn and opened out 
with a sheer-pole, say/* 

" And aTe you goin' on deek with that 
fakement to put it over the tiger's neck ? M 
roared Captain Cradgett. *' Oh, do go I You 
and your plan and your spreader ! '* 

" I don't mean to go down with it, sir," 
said Quin. £t You quite mistake me* What 
I'm goin' to do is to fake up this gadgett and 
lower it down on deck, and wait till he walks 
through it," 

The skipper rubbed his nose, and looked 
down at his subordinate as if he wer. 1 a pro- 
mising cand'date for an idiot asylum. 

M Ah." said Captain Cradgett, " I see, And 
we're to wait up here on this fore-yard till 
he walks through it ! Well, Mr. Sadler, 
what do vou think of Mr, Quin's plan ? " 

"I think it's dull/' said Mr. Sadler, 
gloomily, M and not at all excitinV 

And he turned to the second mate. 

" Besides, Mr. Quin, suppose he does walk 
through it ; what are we to do then ? " 

" Why/ 1 said Mr. Quin, u don't you see ? 
As soon as he steps inside we must haul it as 
hard as we can, break away the stop, and the 
bowline will catch him round the middle, and 
we shall have him right and tight and handy/' 

But the skipper shook his head. So did 
Sir. Sadler, And a deep silence fell on them 
for quite a little while. Then Captain 
Cradgett spoke. 

'■ Well, I suppose it *s better than nothing" 
he said, grudgingly, " but we'll look pretty 
fools all the same up aloft here hoi din' on to 
a large and powerful tiger middled, so to 
speak, by a runnin* bowline. Why, he'll 
fairly scoot away with us." 

" Oh. no r he won't/' said Mn Quin ; " I've 
thought of all that. If we catch a turn or a 
couple of turns round the must well hold 
him, and every time he jumps we'll haul in 
some of the slack," 

11 By Jove ! " said the skipper. " I begin 
to think, if he only walks through it, the thing 
might work." 

" I'm sure of it," said Quin, joyfully. 
" And you'll see, sir, when we have hold of 
him he'll be very angry and jump and jump, 
and every time he does we'll haul in a 
bit more of th& slack. And presently he'll 
be hoisted up in the middle, standing on his 
toes, and any of us can go down and do just 
what we like with him." 

" Yes, you can go down and do what you 
like with him/ 1 said the skipper, with bitter 

" Yes, and so you can for me," said Mr. 
Sadler, darkly, 

" He'll be quite safe/' said Mr, Quin ; 
" perfectly safe ! " 

" I'm glad of that, on your account/' said 
the skipper. i( But what'll you do when you 
do go down ? " 

11 Well, sir, we'll hoist him up, and some of 
us could just entice him, so to speak, towards 
his cage/' said Quin* 

" Yes, yes, you can entice him/* said the 
skipper ; ** or Mr, Sadler can entice him/* 

" Don*t ask me to/* said the chief mate, 
firmly, (t because I won't, I wouldn't for 
an admiral.*' 

" And if that doesn't work/* said the second 
mate, " we could turn the cage on its side and 
hoist him up and lower him into it.*' 

" Yes, yes/' said Mr. Sadler, in a deep tone 
of despair ; M and I see you get tin 5 him into 
the cage somewhere about this time two 
months. And I see the crowd cumin' out to 
help you do it ! Oh. no, I don't think anythin 1 
of your plan, Mr. Quin. 1 ' 

Mn Quin then alleged that he had a sub- 
sidiary plan, which was to drop a piece of 
l)eef into the cage. Then the tiger would 
follow the beef. 

" Well, well," said the skipper, impatiently, 
l£ we can't stay here for a month of Sundays 
lookin' like three joskins ! Now, now, come 
now, Mr* Quin, what are you goin* to do all 
this with ? " 

(( I think that topsail brace will do the trick 
all right,'* said Quin, 

" Very well, try it," said the skipper. 

And Quin called to Ryan, up aloft in the 
main cross-trees. 

" Here, Ryan, just cut adrift both parts of 
the port topsail brace under your foot.*' 

And Ryan cut it adrift. Quin went up 
aloft on the fore-topsail yard and, hauling up 
the brace pendant, laid hnld of the brace and 
unrove it + And presently, with it coiled over 

his ^fc^Bi^'flh^ w >' ard - 



He also brought the brace block and 
pendant which he had cut away at the 

11 Here we are," said Mr. Quin, proudly. 
" I really do believe it'll work." 

And then he looked at the derrick 
triced to the mast and sighed. 

■ " I wish somebody was down there to 
lower away on the span/ 1 he said. 

The skipper sniffed. 

" Why don't you ask the tiger? ,! he 
asked, satirically. " He looks an awful 
obligin* beast," 

Hut Quin had his own methods. He 
and Mr, Sadler cut off a fathom of the 
brace and unlaid it. With the block 
and brace pen- 
ci a n t Quin 
climbed out on 
the gaff of the 
boom- foresail. 
When he was 
up at the peak , 
with his arm 
round the 
halliards, he 
lashed the brace 
block there* 
having wound 
the pendant round 
and round and made 
it thoroughly fast. Then 
he took a couple of turns 
and a half hitch with the 
end of the brace round the 
peak and j having stopped it 
there, Mr. Sadler hauled it in, 
cut it, and made it fast as 
preventer halliards. He then 
slung the fresh end out to 
Quin, who caught it ? rove it 
through his block, and. sliding 
down the gaff, brought it in 
with him. Once or twh v 
while these manoeuvres were 
going on, the tiger j still as 
lively as a parched pea on a 
hot shovel, came and looked 
eagerly at the second mate. 
But now Quin made a bi;u r 
running bowline at the end of 
the brace. Then the skipper 

(t Look here, 
Mr. Quin, don't "kvkry time he uttered a 
forget we roar of race the joyful 
mustn't cut skipper, ™e chkerless mu. 

. - ■ SAPt.fcK, AMI THE PROUD 

tne tiger in SK cond ,mate ijai:lkd him 
two. Just you 

put a knot in that contraption of yours 
where you think it'd prevent it running 
right home about his middle. Don*t 
forget my premium at Calcutta/' 

And Quin did as the skipper suggested. 
When he had got it arranged he used a 
sheer -pole, a.s a spreader and stopped 
the whole fakement lightly with yams 
from a foot rope seizing, 

(t There we are, sir/ 1 said Mr. Quin, 
joyously. ' When lie gets inside it we 
mustn't let him have time to jump 
through. So let's take a couple of turns 
round the mast. Here you are, Mr, 

"Ah, the more I think of it the more 
hopeless I feel/' said Mr, Sadler, in the 
deepest depression, " To sit up here 
on this yard fislun' for a tiger is dull 
to a degree," 

But the skipper rebuked him, 
f Do try and be more hopeful, Mr. 
Sadler; sometimes you quite depress 

Quin paid no attention to this bicker- 
ing. He lowered his ingenious eon 
irivitnee down on the deck and prepared 
to wait with the patience of a pier 

1 Yes, it looks pretty/' said the 
unhopeful Mr. Sadler. " But why 
isn intelligent tiger should take an 
interest in it fairly beats me," 
11 Oh, I'm not say in 1 he will, 
mt, ? said Quin, "That's not 
the point. But just look at 
the way he goes about. If 
you didn't know better, 
what with the 
qui ckne^s of 
him vou'd think 
there were 
several tigers. 
Now, accordin* 
to the doctrine 
of chances, it's 
long odds that 
inside of a day or 
two he'll be sure to 
walk through that bow- 

11 What j in a day or two ? " 
asked the skipper, his jaw 

" Oh. yes, sir/ T said Quin^ 
firmly and cheerfully. " Ac- 
cordin* to the doctrine of 

linafjHSffiJ' ^ e „ must d0 k » 
PRINCETON W;fffilff' 



" I think very little 
of you and your doc- 
trine of chances," 
said the skipper, for 
the first time showing 
real depression, 

But just then the 
tiger brushed the 
noose as he went 
forard again. He 
sniffed the galley. 

haul it up and dangle it round about the noose, 
fetch him, sir ; don't you think so ? " 
But the skipper shook his head. 



inside of which was the trembling cook, and 
presently bounded on the foVsle head ; where 
he inspected the anchors with much more than 
the interest of a Lloyd's surveyor. Then once 
more he returned to the bridge -house. He 
looked long and eagerly at the three men on 
the fore-yard, and then ? going on the fidley, 
burnt his nose against the funnel, and spat 
like an outraged cat, 

" I didn't like the way he looked at us/* 
said the skipper. " I didn't like it at all." 

" Yes, but he must come here, sir, if we're 
to catch him/' said Mr. Quin. u Fvc a good 
mind to go a little farther down, just to 
entice him. Or perhaps Mr, Sadler would. 3 * 

11 You're quite wrong, Mr. Quin," grunted 
the chief mate* " The Mr, Sadler you refer 
to wouldn't go down a foot farther for five 
pounds. So there you have it," 

14 Well, I've got another plan," continued 
the ingenious second mate. " I was think in' 
of gettin* another line and heavin' :t down 
to Mr. Macintosh for him to put a piece of 
beef on it out of the store, r.nd then we could 

' You are an 
ingenious young 
man/' said Cap 
tain Cradgett, 
l£ but vou don't 
see the bearing of 
all your infernal 
notions. Just sup 
pose you held a 
piece of beef down 
there, and just 
suppose he got it, what do vou suppose 
he'd do ? M 

** Well } I suppose he'd eat it, sir/' said the 
second mate, 

(t Well, yes/ J said the skipper, tartly, 
" that's what 1 suppose, and then I suppose 
he'd be quite happy; and I suppose he'd go 
to sleep for twenty- four hours; and I also 
suppose., Mr. Quin, that we T d be up here all 
the time, I don't like all these suppositions ; 
I don't like 'em in the least-" 

But just at that moment Mr, Sadler gave 
a terrific yell, and bellowed : — 

tL Haul away ! Haul away ! Haul away ! ,T 
11 My gosh, we've got him ! " roared the 

!t Oh, my plan's a wonder/' said Mr. Quin, 
us ho Inuled with the others, find very nearly 
fell from aloft. 

His plan had been successful. Down below 
the tiger now went through a series of gym- 
nastic evolutions which were most surprising. 
Hut every filiigihaltfram&d a roar of rage or 

upat l^iKETONnJKIVERSlTT 1 ? rnd tr * d l0 



tie a knot in himself, the joyful skipper, the 
cheerless Mr. Sadler, and the proud second 
mate hauled him up tighter. Presently his 
back assumed the form of a Norman arch, 
while he scratched viciously at the deck with 
what the skipper called his fore-and-aft claws. 
Each time he turned round to lay hold of 
the rope that had him in a clinch he was 
hoisted a little higher* 

" Handsomely ! we mustn't hoist him up 
too much," said the skipper, u I think the 
brace is all right, but you never know* We 
don't want to put too much strain on it, 
Hut he looks pretty helpless now, Mr. Quin t 
don't he ? Oh, he's losin* ground every jump/' 

M Yes, sir, so he is." said Mr, Quim 
" My plan just works like machinery," 

" Yes } it's almost excithr /' said Mr, Sadler, 
slowly. " Oh, it's really almost excitin\ But 
what are we goin T tt> do now ? " 

M Ah," said the skipper, " the thing now is 
to get him back into the cage." 

* s Well, it ain't far from him/ 1 said Mr, 
Sadler. " It's fairly handy. Gettin' him in 
will be quite another matter. We may be 
here for months with him dancin' about 
there and us try in* to get him in, and all, all 

in vain. 

Come, do dry up, Mr. Sadler/' said the 
skipper, with sudden wrath. " You can't 
keep cheerful for a minute. I never met such 
a man. What shall we do now, Mr + Quin ? " 

11 Well, sh, what I was thinkin 5 of/' 
replied Mr. Quin ; 4 * was that one of us could 
get a piece of beef and put it in the cage. 
And we could rig up a fakement so that when 
the tiger got into the rage we could close I he 
door from up aloft and shoot the bolts 

" Yes/' said Mr. Sadler, " that sounds all 
right. But it won't work — I know it won't." 

(1 1 don't see why not/ 7 said the skipper. 
" Now, Mr. Sadler, Mr. Quints done a whole 
Jot. Don't you think you could go down 
and get the beef and fix things up ? " 

Mr. Sadler shook his head. 

" No ? Captain Cradgett, 1 don't think I 
could. I don't in the least think I could. 
And what's more, I don't mind savin' that 
I won't/' 

" Oh, but you've got to if I tell you to/' 
said the skipper, 

" Not at aih sir/' said Mr. Sadler, " I always 
try to do my duty, but I never shipped to 
go halves in the deck with a tiger, and I cant 
do it, sir. Why don't you try somebody else ? 
There's Ryan up there ; let him do it/' 

" Very well, well try it on Rvan," said the 
skipper. " Here, Ryan/' he called out, 4l now 

the tigers quite safe we want you, or one of 
you, to go with the cook and get out a quarter 
of beef and put it in the cage/' 

i; Oh, do you, sir? " said Ryan, sitting very 
tight on the main cross-trees, *' But beggin* 
your pardon, sir, I wouldn't go down there 
with a tiger tied up with a piece of string for 
the whole vally of the ship and the cargo. 
Nor my mute J ere wouldn't , neither. Not 


! « 

And the skipper turned to Mr. Sadler and 
Mr. Quin. 

u You see, if those curs won't do it," he 
said, " I don't see how I'm to make 'em. So 
it's up to one of you two to do it," 

" Why, yes," saiff Mr, Sadler, who seemed 
to be thinking hard, tl If Mr. Quin won't 
I suppose it's up to me/ J 

( Yes, I think it's up to you now/ 1 said 
Quin. " I've done almost enough." 

" There, you see t it's up to you, Mr, Sadler," 
said the skipper, with a certain uneasiness 
which both Quin and Sadler understood. 

'* Yes," said Sadler, very thoughtfully, 
M accordin' to sea custom, if the second mate 
won't do a thing the mate's got to. Such 
as goin' aloft in bad weather and the like, 
(loin* desperate things and the like, But 
what's the sea custom. Captain Cradgett, if 
the mate won't go aloft or the crowd won't 
follow him it he does ? What's the custom 
then ? Why ? the captain has to go, to be 

And the skipper visibly altered colour, 

** Come, you mustn't talk like that/' he 
said, hastily ; " it's ridiculous. Remember 
the difference in our positions. I'm gettin' an 
old mam and besides, Mr. Sadler, I'm fat. As 
you know, the tiger never saw me without 
gettin' excited, But I've seen you, Mr. 
Sadler, stand by his cage for half an hour 
without him as much as lookin* at you. Why, 
you might have been a bone a month old for 
all the interest he took in you*" 

It is quite true that the chief mate was 
rather thin and bony. 

li Well, I may be thin/* he said, almost 
through his teeth, " but I'm not goin* to rely 
on him takin' no interest in me. I do wish 
you'd never brought him, sir/' 

*' So do I/* said the skipper. " But what's 
the good of talkiiv about that now ? We've 
got him, haven't we ? " 

" 1 think he's still got us/* sighed Mr. 
Sadler, " I vote we put him overboard 
without project in' with him any more. 
Look there, there's Great Nicohar. We've 
got no use,-ifltjitj a |l^^|.^e has. What's the 

good f Riiifti^^^^feifr to swlm to ? 


l S 

That's my plan. You saw just now how lie 
stood up, put his paws on the rail and looked 
at it, and sniffed and sniffed and sniffed as if 
he smelt honie. Yes 7 I vote we sling him 
overboard- What do you say, Jlr, Quin ? " 

"It isn't at ell such a had idea," said the 
second mate. " We could hoist him up, and 
I could rig a whip out to the yard-arm there 
and make it fast on that tigers tackle and 
swing him outboard, and then we could cut 
him adrift.' 1 

" Well. I really do think it's best to put 
him overboard," said the skipper, reluctantly* 
If Quin had suggested that they should not 
do this Mr. Sadler would have probably urged 
it as the only resource left to them. But now 
he was once more full of the mournfullest 

4t It's all very well," he saidj t( but suppose 
we swing him up and suppose the rope parts, 
we'll all be in the same old trouble/' 

li Yes, yes , but somethin* must be done," 
said the skipper, desperately. " Fm geltin* 
that hungry and thirsty and stiff I don't know 
what to do. Ami losirr my premium Loo ! 
But we must run some risk j what do you 
say, Mr. Quin ? " 

" Yes, sir, I suppose we must," said the 
second mate, who thought he had run about 
as much risk as anybody. 

" Well, then, get to work and rig that 
whip," said the skipper, crossly. w Here, 
Mr + Sadler, that's somcthin' you can do," 

And presently they got the whip rigged at 
the yard-arm, and Quin swarmed out again 
to the peak of the gaff and took a rolling 
hitch with the hauling part round the brace 
as far down as he could reach. Then he 
dapped a stopper on the peak tackle, cleared 
the fall, and ent the end of it down on deck. 
Then once more it was a question as to who 
should go town and take the other fall to 
the winch, 

" Come, Mr. Sadler," said the skipper, " I 
maintain it's your turn now," 

ib Oh, no, J said Mr, Sadler, u not at all. 
Dont you worry about me/' 

i( You're a coward, Mr, Sadler," said the 
skipper, angrily. 

M Yes," said Mr. Sadler, very firmly, 
" where there's a tiger about I am a coward, 
I own it freely, and I dont care who knows 
it — man, woman, or child."' 

" Mr. Quin. I suppose we mustn't ask him," 
said the captain, 4L Poor Mr. Sadler s trem- 
blin 1 like a leaf. I suppose you, and perhaps 
Ryan, might go down on deck, now he's quite 
safe, and take the end to the winch." 

Yes j but supposin* the rope breaks while 


we Ye hoistin' him," said Mr. Quin* " Where'll 
I and Ryan be then ? " 

Ryan interfered from the main cross-trees. 

" Don't you trouble about me, Mr. Quin/' 
said that able-bodied seaman j "I sha'n't 
be there." 

11 Oh, very well, you're a coward too, are 
you ? " said the skipper. u But I've got a 
plan. We must have you safe, Mr, Quin, 
whatever happens. Look here, let's have 
another line up here and send us up a single 
block. We'll rig a whip to put round your 
waist, and Mr. Sadler and I will stand by it. 
If the rope breaks before he's over the side 
we'll run you up out of his way quick, d'ye 

" Ye 5, that's a very good notion," said Mr. 
Sadler ; 1[ a very good notion* I wouldn't 
like you to he hurt, Quin, I really wouldn't. 
It would make me very much depressed," 

" Then I sincerely hope not hi n* will hap- 
pen to Mr, Quin/' said the skipper ; " for If 
you're more depressed than usual, Mr, Sadler, 
the only way to save me from cuttin' my 
throat will be for you to cut yours," 

And when this plan was all arranged and 
the skipper and mate stood by the fall, the 
second mate went down to the winch, 

tl Mind you don't lose any tme hoistin 1 
mr.' h said Quin, as he went down. 

*' You rely on us," said the skipper, cheer- 
fully, w Well do our very best for you." 

" Ye ■, yes," said Mr, Sadler, sombrely, 
* c we'll do our best, Quin : but in case of acci- 
dents, have you any message s for home ? " 

l£ Dry up, Mr, Sadler, do dry up," said the 
skipper. *' I never saw such a man as you, 
Mr. Sadler. Come now, lay hold there, and 
the moment there's the faintest sign of the 
yard-arm whip part in* hoist away quick," 

And presently Mr. Quin had the winch 
going with plenty of turns round the barrel. 
He worked it very slowly, and gradually 
made a Gothic arch of the tiger, who uttered 
the most extraordinary noises and clawed 
the air viciously. The skipper was most 
excited and Mr. Sadler sighed audibly. 

" Oh, by thunder, it works ! " said the 
skipper, " My plan works ! " 

il Yes. it does almost seem to work," said 
Mr, Sadler, lugubriously, 

" Heave away handsomely, very slow," 
said the skipper, " Don't take any risks, 
Mr. Quin." 

Quin felt he was taking a great many, and 
thought it was about time somebody helped 
him. He stopped the winch i j nd called to 
Ryan. Original from 

" Look^ c pp^, Lff^W^ COmC d0 ™ 



here. Don't be a coward, man ; I want you 
to slack away on the main purchase as I heave 
in on the yard-arm whip." 

And to thii appeal Ryan succumbed. 

11 I never shipped to do it, sir, and I don't 
like to," said Ryan ; w but you beln ] there, I'll 
come if I perish, for I feels I must/' 

So presently, as Quin went slow with his 
winch, Ryan slacked away on the barrel of 
the other, after the mate aloft had cast off 
the stopper on the peak purchase. 

il Oh, things are goin' splendidly," said the 
skipper, " splendidly/' 

And just at that moment Sadler, who was 
above him, slipped and knocked the skipper off 
his perch, The two of them having hold 
of the fall of the whip attached to Mr, Quin, 
completely overbalanced the whole arrange- 
ment. With the rope running easy in the 
block they hoisted Quin nearly up to the 
foreyard, while they went down on deck quite 
close to the furious and enraged tiger- As 
they descended the noise the tiger made was 
more than equalled by the roars of the 
skipper and his mate. As Quin had been 
forcibly hauled from the winch, Ryan made 
a dash and saw to it that the tiger w r as still 
held taut, He got hold of the whip-fall while 
he still held on to his own. But that, of 
course, the skipper and Mr. Sadler could not 
know in the hurry of their descent. No 
sooner had they reached the deck load than 
they both let go of the fall and bolted for the 
fore rigging, while poor Quin came down with 
a crash on top of Ryan, and knocked him 
as flat as a jib-do wn-hauh In the meantime 
an extraordinarily active skipper and a still 
more active mate were struggling wildly for 
precedence on the starboard forc-shrouds, a 
precedence which was gained in the most 
insubordinate manner by the chief mate. 
And now Quin, rendered desperate by this 
emergency ^ reckoned he'd chance things and 
work more quickly. He set the winch going, 
and the tiger rose smartly, as Ryan slacked 
away on the old fore -topsail brace. The 
animal made one desperate attempt to daw 
the rail, but was finally swung over the side 3 
and no sooner was he above the Indian Ocean 
than the rope of the yard-arm tackle parted, 
and he went into the water with a terrific roan 
The mate, the skipper, Quin, and the 
courageous Ryan uttered yells of triumph, 
and no sooner had they shouted, " He's 
overboard, he's overboard ! ?J than the rest 
of the crew emerged cautiously from their 
quarters and presently l ; ned ihc port side of 
the Star of the Last. Then the aq>tn : n and 
Mr, Sadler came down from aloft slow 1 , v. 

" Can I help you at all, sir ? I should be 
glad to help you if I could, sir." said the chief 
mate, anxiously, to his superior. 

'* Not the way you did just now, by 
climbing over me/' said the skipper, angrily, 
t( puttin* those boots of yours in my neck. 
I never believed you were such an active man, 
Mr, Sadler, and I hope I'll never have the 
chance to prove it again* And you that 
knocked me over, too ! " 

It was certain now that the tiger not only 
smelt land but saw it. By the way he swam 
towards Great Nicobar it looked as if he was 
glad to get rid of the Star of the East. 

" Ah !" said the skipper, thoughtfully; " a 
tiger in the Nicobar Islands, especially a 
clouded llanchurian tiger, will be a great 
surprise to the naturalists, and also to the 
natives. They* re a measly lot, a very 
measly lot, Twenty-five years ago I was in 
Nancowry Harbour in an old wand-jammer. 
It's a fine harbour, Sir. Sadler, but I have 
a very poor opinion of the inhabitants, and 
a few of them will never be missed* Nor 
would most ot the crowd here but Mr, Quin 
and Ryan/' 

And then he turned viciously to the chief 

11 I'm sorry, Mr. Macintosh, that you were 
in a safe place," said the skipper, " and if 
I could I'd dock the, premium I've lost out of 
your money. It was up to you to look after 
that cage, and you didn t do it. I've a very 
poor opinion of you, Mr. Macintosh ; but 
there, get her goin* again, "We don't want to 
be lolloppin' round Great Nicobar all day." 

Having freed his mind ; he retired with 
dignity. Sadler turned to the second mate, 
and said, darkly ; — 

11 You mark me, Mr. Quin, if you want 
those cigarettes you'd better go and ask for 
} cm ; and wait till he hands 'em out. I oughtn't 
to say it t but he's mean to a degree. Did 
you notice up aloft how he kept on saying 
4 My plan, my plan, my plan ' ? " 

" Yes, sir, I noticed it/' said Mr. Quin. 

" When it was mostly mine/' said Mr. 
Sadler, with an air of depression that might 
have sent the glass down an inch* u But 
there, you never get credit for anythin' at sea. 
And, oh, it's mostly so very dull ! ,] 

£i But surely it hasn't been dull to-day. 
sir ? " asked Mr. Quin r as he wiped his heated 
brow r . 

The chief mate rubbed his chin, 

' c Well, no/ 1 lie said, sadly, C( I suppose you 
couldn't call it exactly dull, liut it's mostly 
dull. ve^lfflflil'ittJcff^dTn I'd much rather drive 
a b^|^^W^j*UE«OTVitecMpel Road/' 


Tneir Human Side. 



!N all his ways Mr. Lloyd 
George is very human, Success 
has not spoilt his love of home 
life, his affection for the 
simple pleasures of his early 
youth, or that happy tempera- 
ment which leads him to 

revel in the humours 

enables him to 

keep so astonish- 
ingly young in 

character in spite 

of the cares and 

worries of his re- 
sponsible office. 
The subject of 

this sketch is 

one of the most 

charming of com- 
panions. His real 

charm, which 

makes him so 

popular among 

those who really 

know him, arises 

from the fact 

that, however 

busy or careworn 

he may be, he is 

always very much 

the same. He is 

a ijian of ^ex- 

ccpt tonally high 

spirits and cheery 

optimism; always 

bright and in- 
teresting, and 

always full of fun. 

He loves a good 

humorous story, 

and is always glad 

to hear a new one. 

At the same time 

he will listen with patience lo an old 

"chestnut/* and even if he has heard the 

anecdote before he seldom says so* 



/^to, -<ycrt <T General. 

I have often noticed that if any young or 
unknown person tells a story, however lame 
it may be and however poorly it 
ho told, Mr, Lloyd George 
f s endeavours to cover up the 
speaker's confusion and re- 
lish his confidence. 
i well-known love of a good 
story leads me 
to speak of one 
of his most de- 
lightful habits of 
friendship. H e 
has a knack of 
storing up anec- 
dotes and little 
pieces of interest- 
ing information 
for the next 
meeting with 
yourself. He has 
a wonderful 
memory, and can 
usually re call ? 
with great ac- 
curacy, the most 
trivial con- 
versations and 
incidents mont hs, 
and sometimes 
years, after they 
have taken place. 
If vou remind 
him of a previous 
during which he 
made a certain 
statement^ he is 
always apt with 
a retort. He not 
only remembers 
what he said and 
what you said, 
but also what otlur persons present said, 
and how thev looked y.nd how vou looked. 

His varii 




He likes best to talk about politics, but he 
will take an interest in almost any topic. 
This is, no doubt, due to the fait that he is 
an omnivorous reader of the newspapers. 
Very little escapes him ? from foreign news to 
breach of promise cases. If a great None on - 
formist congress is being held he knows all 
about tin' >{.n't-<-h:-s, and ran tell you the best 
points made by each speaker. And it is the 


whether I shoul^ care to resume my 
professional labours. I had one serious 
drawback — I never sent in any bills of costs. 
The result was 1 never had any money. 
But when my brother joined me in practice 
things improved in that respect. I must 
confess, however, that 1 hated the office work.'' 
I suggested that he might have teen a great 
success at the Bar, " Well," he said, " per- 
haps I might, but one never 

Referring again to what 
Mr* Lloyd George reads f it 
is an astonishing fact 
that, notwithstanding his 
numerous occupations, he 
finds time to peruse a good 
many books. He loves 
historical novels, and would 
have made an ideal re- 
viewer, for he possesses 
the art of picking out the 
real point in a book, and it 
is sdcfnm that he reads 
anything without making 
some pregnant and saga- 
cious observation upon it* 
Of course, there are some 
fields of activity of which 
Mr. Lloyd George is com- 
pletely ignorant. His 
education in horse-racing, 
for in stance j has been 

same with any other promi- 
nent happening. He has 
read all about it, and can 
discuss the subject in almost 
any company. 

Reing by profession a 
solicitor, it is scarcely sur- 
prising to learn that Mr. 
Lloyd George takes a keen 
interest m criminal cases. 
He will follow the evidence 
of a big murder trial very 
closely, and will afterwards 
describe to you, in course of 
conversation, what questions 
he would have put to the 
witnesses and what verdict 
he would have given if he 
had been on the jury, 

I once asktd him, " Were 
you fond of the law ? " " I 
was fond of advocacy/ 1 he replied, " and, 
on the whole, the .six years during which 
I practised were very happy^ although," 
he said , reflect i vel y, "I don t kut 1 iknow 


'nil liii niir 



r.'i-.r..K J-., ii. if, ■ *. 

noglected. And he does not take much 
interest in cricket or English football. But 
he is a great philosopher and has ran fully 

th0U #f»*!}NP'JE»fT'r bkms of lifc * 



He places courage above nil other virtues 
and sometimes he says that patience is the 
highest form of courage. 

The fact that he is always observing and 

right, but somehow I did not feel that I was 
doing the right thing. ? 

The Friend : li I suppose you thought you 
were robbing the poor low of h*;r living? " 

Ffuii^ A li. Mitt*. 

always ready to adopt improvements is 
undoubtedly the reason why intellectually he 
improves every year. He likes trying experi- 
ments, and the following anecdote provides 
an illustration of his thoroughness in this 

Some time ago a friend hud been descanting 
to him upon the enormous quantity of 
maTgarine which is consumed. A few weeks 
afterwards the following conversation took 
place :— 

Mr- Lloyd George : " I sent for some of 
your margarine the other day." 

The Friend : " How did you like it ? " 

Mr, Lloyd George : " Well, it seemed all 
Vol i.— a. 

Mr. Lloyd George : u Yes. Having been 
brought up in the country I regard the cow 
as a sacred animal.*" 

A man of extremely simple tastes, Mr, 
Lloyd George likes very plain food, and has 
really only one extravagance — he loves a good 
cigar. I have frequently heard him say., " I 
was at a big dinner the other night ; no end 
of courses. 1 did wish it was all over, and 
looked forward to my cigar/' In his own 
house he is one of the most domesticated 
of men. But there is one task he does 
not like, and that is carving. Mrs 
Lloyd George u orally carves, and when she 
is away^^jj^ with 



the carving-knife arc the subject of much 
amusement in the family circle. No one, 
however, enjoys the fun more than Mr, Lloyd 
George himself. Incidentally, 1 might men- 
tion that on Sunday afternoons he always 
has a special dish — an apple pasty or turn- 
over — prepared for his tea. 

Photo. Central Pre**, 

Possessing the Welshman's natural love of 
musi<\ Mr. Lloyd George rarely musses an 
opportunity of going to hear an oratorio. He 
is also fond of the opera, hut nothing seems 
to please him better than to spend an hour 
singing Welsh hymns, accompanied by his 
daughter Olwen on the p:ano, he being an 
enthusiast in regard to singing Welsh hymns. 
When he has finished one of his favourites 
he will usually say, (l That is a splendid 
old hymn; now let us have so-and-so/ 1 
Furthermore, everyone present must join 
in the hymn, and those who cannot sing 
Welsh have to do their best in a foreign 
language. Mr Lloyd George will, however, 
sometimes make a concession and sing a 
hymn in English for the benefit of the un- 

Theatricals, however, as well as music, 
greatly interest him, for he himself is a born 

actor and rn/nrc. When be returned from 
his recent trip to Wales he gave a most 
^graphic description of the manner in which 
the various types of soldiers— th* collier, farm 
labourer, mechanic, shop assistant, etc.— 
marched, finishing up, however, with the 
appropriate observation : — 

M But they will ail bayonet the Germans in 
the same way. They are all actuated by the 
same marvellous spirit," 

It was an this particular occasion that he 
also described the dinner of the Welsh 
Fusiliers which he attended, and the ceremony 
of eating the leek, which every officer must 
perform when he joins the regiment. He 
related how at the dinner in question the 


youngest recruit was a distinguished soldier, 
who had l>ccn placed high in command, and 
said that the manner in which this particu- 
lar officer spoke, and obeyed the regimental 
custom, was one of the most impressive things 



" as if I were attending some great religious 
ceremony. There was nothing comical or 
farcical about the incident/' 

Then, in a few picturesque sentences, he 
forthw th gave some extracts from the 
officer's speech. If the original was as effec- 
tive as the lepetition it must have been a 
wonderful performance, 

1 have said that in all his ways Mr. Lloyd 
George is very human. I might add, he is 
thoughtfully human. To give a little example. 
Hearing Mrs. Lloyd George telephoning for 
one of the maids to go from Downing Street 
to Walton Heath, he at once said : — 

" I should let her stay at Downing Street 
to-night. This is the girl's night off, I 
expect she will want to meet her sweetheart. 
It would be a pity to disappoint them." 

Mr, Lloyd George is always glad to render 
a service to an old friend. Notwithstanding 
his great success 3 he has changed very little 
in his manner or his friendships. He is just 
the same unassuming person that he was 
when he lived at his little house on Wands- 
worth Common. 

He is very fond of dogs, and takes the 
keenest interest in their doings. When he 
started from Wait on Heath to attend the 
recent conference in Paris he took with him 
his daughter Megan's dog, a venerable pug of 
diplomatic habits, no doubt due to long resi- 
dence in the neighbourhood of the Foreign 
Office. When at home, Mr. Lloyd George 
usually sits with one of the dogs curled up on 
his lap. 

As the majority of people are aware, the 
fight honourable gentleman is devoted to 
golf, and Saturday usually finds him at 
Walton Heath, for he rarely plays on any other 
day. He has greatly improved in his game 
during recent years, and has become quite a 
good player. When he has had a hard night 
at the House of Commons nothing pleases him 
more than to hole a short putt at the first 
hole, a feat which he accomplished on the 
morning after his memorable Budget speech 
in 1909. 

Owing to hi 3 shortness in stature, many 
people think that he is a small man and 
lacking in physical power. This, how- 
ever, is quite a mistake. The truth is 
that Mr. Lloyd George, who weighs thirteen 
and a half stone, is a very sturdy, powerful 
person, with a wonderful physique and 
nervous system. Were it not so he could 
scarcely have endured so successfully the 
Strenuous and exciting political e% r ents in 
which he has figured during the last few years. 

He has a wonderful gift of sleep. When he 
is tired out he will go into a room, lock the 
door, lie down, pull a shawl over himself, 
and go to sleep for half an hour. When he 
awakes h? is as fresh as a new pin. 

From the nature of things, all politicians 
arc open to the charge of inconsistency 3 but 
Mi. Lloyd George has never wavered in the 
two main principles of his life— -one, the hatred 
of tyranny and oppression, and the other the 
desire to improve the condition of the poor. 
Indeed, he regards the remark made in the 
House one night by Mr, Bonar Law, who, 
speaking of his confrere , referred to him as 
" the little brother of the poor/ 5 as one of the 
greatest compliments which have ever been 
paid him. A friend said to him once, " If I 
had to write your epitaph 1 should say : 
1 Sacred to the memory of David Lloyd 
George. He was the poor man's friend/ f 
To this he smiled and replied, +t You had 
better say he tried to be/' No man can 
do more, and it is certain that no truer 
democrat, no more genuine champion oE the 
working classes has ever occupied a seat in 
the British Cabinet. 

Recently Mr. Lloyd George has occupied the 
pleasing but dangerous position mentioned in 
the Scriptures — a position which , we are 
told on the same high authority, is specially 
dang* rous fur a prophet. All men have been 
speaking well of him. The critics have been 
distinguished by their absence. However, 
his friends have now been reassured J he 
has been saved by the drink question from 
the fate of the false prophets of old. 

[Other articles in this series will follow in due course^ 

by Google 

Original from 

El 1 * - J3e:i*sci*€:ck 

in fvndorL 



25 * 13 ■ *P ' A / ^ 12 " A r>li * ^ 13t u pe t* i ot* i Kr 



lFf» ^ 

«j€ M^t^i 

■ h. f?r 




! in 

i^T*. delivered- «.u f^^ ^^ikJLiik nt ■^3- 1 » ■ . *■. tJi? «u? 




Original from 


viL-In the Nick of Time. 


Illustrated Joy Charles Pears, 

HE great game of war." I 
remember reading that 
somewhere soon after I had 
joined the forces, and at the 
time I was a bit puzzled as 

I] to what it meant, but bv 


degrees I understood better, 
In a sense war is a game— so to speak, a game 
and a half ; but I never did think that part 
of it was being blown through the air in a 
tree. If it comes to that, no one else did 
either. When I rolled over the edge of the 
trench, first of all they thought I was dead ; 
then they thought I was dying ; when they 
found that I wasn't even that, nothing seemed 
to be able to stop their asking questions. 
That's the impression left on my mind ; 
although I refused to answer them they kept 
on asking, I simply went to sleep. They 
didn't go so far as to refuse to let me do 
that, beeausCj I suppose, they saw I couldn't 
help it. 

When at last I did wake up, it was a long 
while before I could make out where I was. 
I was on a heap of straw ; in front was a 
rickety wooden table ; some stools were round 
it, made out of empty wooden boxes, which 
didn't look too safe or comfortable either. 
Several people were present — too many for 
the stools, and likewise for the table ; most 
of them seemed to be looking at me. 

The first thing I remember was a voice 
saving :— 

" All right now, eh ? " 

I did my best to scramble up to a sitting 
position. I didn't know who was speaking, 
though I did my best to answer him. But I 
coutd have screamed if I had had breath 
enough to do it with, the beans it gave me ! 

" Beg pardon, sir — can't quite say/' That, 
at first , was all the answer I could find. 

He seemed to be satisfied, which was more 
than I was. 

" Well. Sergeant Iiriggs. I congratulate 
you on being able to say as much as that.' 1 

" Thank you, sir.'* I didn't know what I 
was thanking him for. The fact is, I was 
such a wreck — afraid to touch myself, I was 
so sore and aching. I didn't know anything ; 
certainly not where 1 was or who was there. 
Then all at once a voice spoke which I did 

u Well, Sergeant Briggs, Fm glad to hear 
the doctor congratulate you, because that 
means that matters are not by a long way 
so bad as they might be, and I understand 
that you've been engaged in operations from 
which your escape seems a miracle. What 
is it, Sergeant Briggs, that you have been 
doing ? IJ 

" Haven't been doing anything, sir." The 
sound of Colonel St an way' s voice so took me 
by surprise that I still didn't know what I 
was saying. I had a sort of notion that my 
reply amused him. 

" You haven't, haven't you ? What's this 
I hear about the blowing up of a battery ? 
What da vou know about that ? " 

" Nothing, sir." 

" Is that so? Don't you trouble about 
standing up; I see you're a bit shaky on 
your legs. You had nothing to do with 
blowing it up ? Take your time, my lad ; I 
wouldn't worry you with questions if it 
weren't absolutely necessary that we should 
have some idea of what has happened, so 
that we may make preparations for what 
is likely to follow. You appear to be the 
only man available to give it. What has 
become of your companions ? You were 
in the command of Captain Newstead ? ? ' 

I looked at him as straight in the face as I 
could, which is not saying much ; but though 
I had a sort of feeling that before long I should 
be able to sta:>d up. I couldn't get as far as 
that J^B^TOIpftifrd o' ^nc^d 



up on top of the heap of straw, on which it 
seemed 1 had been to sleep, When he asked 
me that question, it seems silly, but I had to 
make an effort to clear my mind before I was 
able to make an answer of any sort— then it 
was a queer one. 

" I believe he was, sir. I remember his 
saying— I don't quite remember what he 
said, but I know what stuck in my head — 
that he said * We can't pet bark/ ' 

" * We can't get back * ? Captain Newstead 
said that ? Then what happened ? Was 
Captain Newstead wounded ? " 

" I don't know what happened, sir j I don't 
think an von e was wounded." 

" No one was wounded ? You mean that 
the explosion came too soon ? Try to think. 
How did that happen ? Did they blow the 
place tip, or did you ? ,J 

It came to me in a flash ; something in his 
words seemed to lift a veil, I sort of looked 
up and I saw Ormiston with those two balls 
in his hands. I tried to explain, but just at 
that moment it wasn't easy. 

(< Ormiston had a ball in either hand. He 
picked them up off a shelf— two Germans 
tried to stop him. but they couldn't. He 
threw them — I think it must have been — 
into the magazine ; but— that's all I re* 

That's all I ever have remembered — or ever 
shall. It is practically all that anyone has 
ever discovered. It was the beginning and 
the* end of the story of the attack on the 
German battery. I don't want to use any 
tall talk, but there it is* It's as much as any- 
one has ever found out with certainty of the 
end of the English attacking and the Germans 


li\ THE NICK 01* TIME. 


defending* I was all that was left of the 

lot — a miserable little under-sized chap like 

me ! There were some fine fellows among 

them ; Ormiston was over six foot, tall and 

straight, with a hooked nose like they give 

an eagle. Giptain Newstead was almost as 

taU, Good-looking he was 

—we all thought he was 

good-looking. There was a 

look about him which 

always made me feel that 

it wouldn't take much for 

him not to care what he 

did. There came a time 

when I saw his wife, and 

I saw his mother, and I 

told them both — begging 

their pardon — that Id 

been thinking things over 

a good deal since that night } and I had 
come to feel that if he had had his way 
his end was a good deal like what he would 
have had it be. lie did a great thing that 
night, whether he quite meant to do it that 
way or not. Somehow I felt quite sure 




[Cll I DID K 




that he would have given his life with 
pleasure for a chance of doing it again. 

11 Then we are to understand that you're 
the sole survivor of Giptain Newstead's entire 
company r* Tm told that, so fur as can he 
learnt, he had with him fifty-two men, 
including himself." 

M That I can't tell you, sir," 

" They've all gone, excepting you, and the 
battery is utterly destroyed- " 

" That again, sir, I cannot tell you," 

" Well, 1 can tell you ; scarcely even the 
ruins remain, I should imagine that the 
enemy could scarcely have suffered a severer 
blow. Captain Newstead acted throughout 
on his own responsibility. I doubt if 1 should 
have given my permission if it had been asked. 
The result is of a kind which makes it very 
difficult for me, in my position, to pass 
judgment. I believe, Sergeant, that the 
Brigadier here. General Loring, has a word 
to say." 

Colonel Stan way was a biggish man, 
inclining to the heavy side* By him, at the 
table, on a box which looked as if it had held 
wine, was a shortish, sparely-built man — 
I shouldn't think he carried an ounce too 
much — with a short, grizzled moustache, and 
dark eyes which were set far back in his head. 
He spoke in a very quiet voice, which I liked 
the sound of, 

M I don't know. Sergeant, that Colonel 
Stan way puts the case quite clearly, but since 
— if there was any acting without orders — 
there is nothing to show that you arc to blame, 
I may tell you that you have had better 
luck than I have. You have been a soldier 
only a few months, I possibly as many years 
as you are old ; but no chance lias ever come 
my way to do what you did last night. There 
is reason to believe that the German authorities 
proposed to work wonders with their new 
battery, whose very existence had only been 
discovered by accident. I will be frank with 
you - You and your associates ha ve destroyed, 
as it were in the course of an evening stroll, 
what quite possibly they will not be able to 
replace, and which, quite probably, might 
have caused us losses of which I do not care 
to think. I will say no more on that point 
at this moment, except that it is one of which 
you will certainly hear again. It is not to 
be supposed that the Germans will take what 
has happened to them lying down. It seems 
not unlikely that they will strain every nerve 
to win back what they have lost. We are in 
for some very warm fighting. Would you like 
to take your share of the fun, or go on sick 
leave j as you are perfectly entitl 


It was a silly sort of question to ask, 
because, put that way, a chap with one leg 
wouldn't have hesitated what to answer. 
Within half an hour I was one of a party which 
was going up to survey w r hat was left of the 
battery, though, mind you, I was really no 
more fit to do it than nothing at all. 

There was the Brigadier and the whole of 
his staff, or pretty nearly the whole of his 
staff, anyway, and the CO. and his lot, and 
goodness knows who else besides— I should 
think a hundred of us altogether. It seemed 
to me that there were too many. A pair of 
good glasses would have made us plain for 
miles ; but, of course, it was no business of 
mine, and I will say this, that nothing hap- 
pened to stop us — not at the beginning. 

My wrist- watch had gone, vanished ; I 
couldn't think where myself. I supposed 
I had dropped it, perched in that tree, coming 
through the air from the fort to the trench. 
So having no watch I couldn't tell what the 
time was, but I judged it to be between four 
and five. The sun, though overdue, hadn't 
appeared ; the sky was covered with heavy 
grey clouds. There was a mist about which 
looked as if it m : ght turn to rain. There was 
plenty of light for us to see, but it was quite 
easy to understand how we escaped notice 
from anyone at even a little distance who 
wanted to be disagreeable. At the start two 
chaps each lent me an arm to help me along, 
but 1 had rather hobble than stand that, and 
hobble I did, I didn't dare show what it 
cost to put a foot to the ground and get along, 
but if it hadn't been that Id made up my 
mind I wouldn't be beat, before we had gone 
a dozen yards I could have lain down and 

It's a fact* Hut I didn't. Instead of giving 
in I got to the battery. They looked upon me 
as a sort of guide ; it was as that they were 
taking me, l>ecause, if it came to taking, they 
were doing more of that than I was- We 
had the same experience as in the darkness ; 
nothing was seen till we reached the top of 
the slope. Then, looking down, wc saw that 
something beneath was smoking, here and 
there in actual names. It was just as d'fficult 
as it had been overnight to make out just 
what was there and what w r as going on. 
The doctor, a party named McGinn, who 
was a sportsman if ever there was one — as it 
seems to me doctors generally are— who had 
been called up to the trench on the telephone 
to see what was left of me, looked at what w T as 
smoking down below as if it was a jd;c. 

** Suppose/' he said, " there's still some- 
thing do^ririiakpn^fiihete to blow up, and 



chooses an awkward moment to do it. Hadn't 
inquiries better be made } General, before we 
go too far ? " 

"If you mean/' said the Brigadier, " that 
I'm going to stop up here an indefinite time 
while you fellows go pottering about down 
there — no, thank you," 

I don't pretend that that was exactly what 
he said, because I don't cla^m to state exactly 
what anyone said ? and I don't want to run the 
risk of misreporting a Brigadier ; but, any- 
how, down the si pc we all of us went together, 
so far as we could. I tell you I was surprised 
to find how steep it really was ; the mystery 
was how none of us had broken our necks 
the night before, I had to take advantage 
of a helping arm more than once, or I should 
never have got down. 

Wc were all halted at the bottom. The 
Brigadier, the CO., and that lot had a sort of 
pow-wow. I noticed that the CO, looked as 
if he bad had about enough of it ; he wasn't 
built for that sort of work, not at his time 
cf lite. He as good as owned it when he 
spoke to me, being e% r en then a little short in 
the wind. 

" i quite understand. Sergeant, what 
Captain Newstead meant when he said, as 
you tell us f that having once got down it was 
not easy to get back. It's a deuce of a climb 
up there. ** 

As, turning, he glanced tip at the broken 
ground which we f-ad scrambled down, 1 
couldn't help Feeling that nothing but a lift 
would ever get him up at all. Of course , the 
night before 1 had seen nothing ; now, if 
anything, 1 could see less — there was nothing 
left to see ; nothing but a great, untidy sorb 
of pit. It was incredible to think that a solid, 
well-planned, soundly-constructed building 
of considerable size could have been there 
only an hour or two before. So far as I could 
see, there was only one thing left to show 
what might have been — that was a sort of 
mound standing up about the centre of the 
pit f though what it was doing there, or what 
its presence meant, was beyond mc. But 
one of the officers who had come with the 
Brigadier seemed to understand in a moment. 
I heard the General say : — 

M This seems to be a case of not one stone 
being left upon another/' 

The officer I was referring to pointed to the 
mound and replied r — 

*■ There is what's left of the battery — per 
haps half a million's worth of guns, Unless 
I'm mistaken, there's still one left. It may 
have possibilities about it of doing mischief 
yet. 1 doubt if that has been really moved ; 

it's possibly only covered by a dozen feet of 
earth. Investigation might disclose the 
presence of others/ 1 

" Investigation/' said another officer stand- 
ing by h : s side, Lt might discover the presence 
ot other things. The main building, with all 
in and about it, has been blown to kingdom 
come, but I shouldn't wonder if the men had 
their spades they would soon show that there's 
a good deal more of Teal interest left than you 
might suppose/' 

u The great thing, from my point of view," 
struck in the doctor, u is — is anything left of 
human interest ? Is Sergeant liriggs all that 
is left of those, good fellows ? Haven't even 
the Germans left so much as a shoulder 
strap ? ?T 

An answer came from one of our fellows 
who was wandering about with some of the 
rest, looking for what they could find. What 
he had found he d'dn't quite seem to know, 
but it was something. Presently the doctor 
announced that it was part of a German 
officer's tunic, which had been torn from the 
wearer's person, In what seemed to have been 
a sort of secret pocket was a roll of papers ; 
like the whole thing, they were as black as 
soot. When the roll came to l>c unwrapped, 
it became evident that it was part of what was 
probably an official plan. In the very centre 
of the roll was a woman's photograph — an 
unmounted print, evidently taken by an 
amateur. I never saw it, but from what I 
heard it was the photograph of an uncom- 
monly pretty girl. The doctor, annexing it, 
slipped it into a pocket of his own, 

u You can have the plans/ 5 he said ; M I'll 
have the lady. You 11 probably find in the 
papers something to show who the gentleman 
was ; if you do it may comfort her to know 
that at the moment of his death he still held 
her to be the mosi precious thing he had/' 

I suppose we hung about there a pood two 
hours. Quite what the idea was I can't say. 
Most of the men were nosing about in an any- 
how sort of way, and some curiosities some of 
them hit on. The Brigadier and his staff 
were coming to certain conclusions of their 
own — I dont know, they didn't consult me ; 
I only guessed it, but I have got a pair of eyes ; 
so far as I could see, they kepi putting their 
heads together and writing down things on 
bits of paper, so I suppose they were doing 
something, I don't mind admitting that I 
didn't carry on my observations for very 
long, because I fell fast asleep. I somehow 
got a little aside from the others — and oh, 
how I did ache ! I felt sure that every bit of 

skin msrfgnm^m^ bone was 



bruised. There was some nice tufty grass 
round there ; I sat down on it, because stand 
any longer I didn't seem as if I could, and — 
well ? I suppose that was how it happened. 

My experience is that the sweetest sleep 
you get is when you didn't ought to be sleeping 
at all. That was sleep, that was ; in a kind 
of a sort of a way 1 can still look back and 
remember all about it — straight I can. If 
you had seen as much soldiering as I have you 
would find it easy to believe me. All at once 
I got into that state in which you' re not quite 
sure if you're asleep or waking. Presently 
I got pretty nearly sure that at any rate I 
wasn't asleep — I was awake enough to lie 
quite still and do my level best hot to breathe. 
Someone close to me was behaving rather 
funny. He was lying pretty near full length 
on his stomach ; every now and then he 
moved a little forward ? crawling on his hands 
and knees, as if he thought that was the best 
way in which to avoid attention. The grass 
was pretty high and pretty thick — I snuggle J 
well into it, which I suppose was why he 
hadn't noticed me ; because he certainly 
hadn't — lie wouldn't have behaved like he was 
doing if he had. When I opened my eyes I 
found that he was within a couple of feet of 
where I was, his back and head turned the 
other way. He was only moving forward an 
inch or two at a time, flat on his belly, 
like a snail; the uniform he was doing it 
in was never made m England. 

I thought the matter over ; I had plenty 
of chance of doing it — like a snail he moved 
so slowly. Somehow the sight of him made 
me wake up jolly quick, though what I was 
to do now that I had woke up I couldn't think. 
I could see he had a gun and a bayonet and a 
revolver; and 1 hough that was enough for 
me to sec, especially all together at a moment 
like that, I dare say he had half-a-dozcn other 
useful articles as well. Well, I had nothing — 
I hadn't even my rifle. What had happened 
to it while I was in that tree I couldn't say ; 
but if I had tried to bring a gun when I started 
from the trench I doubt if I could ha% T e done 
it. Carrying myself had almost been a bit 
too much lor me* I wished Ormiston had 
been at hand and tried to force a revolver on 
me as I had done on him before the whol ! 
bag of tricks blew up— it wouldn't have been 
long before I had hold of it. Then I'd have 
tackled my German friend. 

Rut what could I do with nothing at all — 
not even so much as a hairpin ? E^dintly 
the gentleman in front didn't want to make 
any more noise thr n he could help ; I was just 
as anxious to be on the quiet side as he was, 

Probably he had friends just handy, who it 
might be just as well shouldn't know that we 
were there till It suited us to give them the 

On my part there was quite an anxious spell 
of indecision. 

Presently he began to do something which 
made it clear that it wouldn't pay to leave 
all the doing to him. Very gingerly, and very 
slowly j he started getting himself — and his 
gun— into a position in which he could shoot. 
Evidently from the way F he was going on T 
wriggling and squirming, he had some target 
in front at which he proposed to aim, I 
couldn't see much from where I was, but 
every now and then,, over the tussocky grass, 
I caught a glimpse of an officer's cap. 1 wasn't 
sure, but I had a sort of notion that that cap 
was being worn by the Brigadier, Possibly 
my friend proposed to do two things — to 
give the alarm which was being eagerly 
awaited by anxious friends quite close at 
hand, and at the same time to kill someone 
worth killing. To shoot an officer in the 
position of General Loring might render it 
worth while to throw away his own wretched 

That might be his point of view, but it wasn't 
mine. I woke up still wider in less time than 
you might have thought was possible. There 
we were, playing a little game with each 
other, which might have been amusing for 
an onlooker to watch. Inch by inch up came 
his gun; keeping pace, I turned more over 
towards him in the grass. We were so close 
that we were almost touching. He had 
brought his gun into a position that it only 
needed a touch and it was ready to aim and 
fire. The rest only depended on what sort 
of marksman he was. General Loring only 
needed to continue absorbed in whatever 
it was he was doing, and that part of the 
British Army would be left without a com- 
manding officer. 

The joke was that the Brigadier was not the 
only person who was too much absorbed in 
what he was doing. That German gentleman 
had every faculty strained much too tightly 
to suspect that just at the back of him there 
w-as me. 1 imagine that he took it for granted 
that he had that piece of ground entirely to 
himself, and never for a moment suspected 
that actually almost touching him there was 
me. His nervous system could not have been 
in such good order as it should, because when 
he did discover my near neighbourhood he 
was so petrified with amazement that he 
was like one whose wits had left him alto- 

ec " h, ?ftiNMiifltM^fr edowntorards 




the trigger, almost touched it. I expected he 
would firc + But just at the critical moment 
I suppose the General did something which 
slightly altered his position. The unseen 
sniper waited what he probably intended to 
be a moment to get a better aim, which was 
a bad mistake on his part, because he never 
got it. Reaching right over, my fingers closed 
on the trigger instead of his, 

I don't know what he thought had hap- 
pened, hut he seemed to be looking at the 

fingers which had been substituted for his as 
if he were looking at something supernatural. 
Them very slowly, he turned his head round, 
and he saw m<\ How he did stare, It must 
have been the surprise of his life. While 
lie stared I gave a little shake and a twist. 
The rifle cm me away from his grasp; I had 
it in mine. Then, I take it, he regained 
possession of his senses sufficiently to enable 
him to realize, U kw.t to t-ome extent, bow 



his gun. I threw it just beyond his reach, 
on which he transferred his attention to me. 
His two great hands came towards my neck. 
I had learnt a trick or two of what I had been 
told the Japanese call ju-jitsu. I slipped 
between his hands and, possibly before he 
guessed what I was after, had him by the 
throat instead of his having me, so tightly 
and so quickly that I had the breath nearly 
squeezed out of his body before he had 
a chance* 

Of course, that sort of thing wasn't going to 
go on for long without attracting attention. 
Presently a doy.en chaps or more came crowd- 
ing rounds and the German was done. Up 
came the Brigadier, and the CO., and a lot 
of the officers, and I had to explain. They 
questioned the prisoner ; they wanted to know 
what his game was, but apparently he was 
keeping his breath to cool his porridge, 
because all he did was to look as if he would 
Jike to have a quiet word or two with me in 
private* I did what I ought not to have 
done ; I got a quiet word with the Colonel, 
and took the liberty to tip him what might 
be called an uninvited wink, 

" If you'll excuse me, sir, 1 fancy this chap 
!ias got a lot of his friends somewhere close. 
If they discover you're here, and General 
Loring, they" II do all they can to take you 
prisoner. It will take you some time to get 
baek to the trench," 

r Ihe whole tot of them grinned at me* 
Of course, I know it was !*kc my cheek to 
shove in my oar, but it seemed to me that 
the General and lis staff were like that 
German, too rnwh engaged with their own 
plans to think of anything else. No doubt 
Ihe General and part of his staff had come 
up there as hard as they could pelt to draw up 
some sort of plan for the defence of the battery 
which we had captured, and wlvch the Germans 
mfght be counted on to do everything that 
wos possible to regain. What that meant the 
General, of course, knew much better than 
1 did. One of his staff laughed right out, 
a young fellow with a waxed moustache which 
turned up at the ends, as if he thought it was 
beyond anything for a chap in my position 
to open h ; s mouth to drop a hint to h : s 
commanding officer — and I dare say he was 
right. I have a trick of being a bit too for- 
ward when I'm not wanted. But the General 
let me down lightly. 

iL I'm not so sure that Sergeant Briggs isn't 
right, The sooner, Stan way, you and I get 
hack to cover, perhaps the betUr it will be," 
Then he spoke to the prisoner, whose game, 
whatever it might have been, I had rather 

spoiled. " You j sir, what explanation have 
you to offer ? To what do we owe the favour 
of your presence here ? Don't pretend you 
can't speak English. '' 

The mans answer was a tittle unexpected- 

" I speak English as well as you do. Is 
that information of any use to you ? If so, 
you are welcome/' 

The fellow's manner wasn't impudent, it 
was just self-possessed. What I felt sure was 
a sudden inspiration gave me an insight into 
the game he would like to play. I had to 
open my mouth again* 

" Reg your pardon, sir, for speaking again, 
but bluff is what he's playing at ; he wants 
to trick you and the Colonel into staying as 
long as he can — till his friends come up/' 

At that moment a private of ours came 
hurrying forward — pretty excited he was. 

" There's a lot of men coming up the h:ll. 
I believe they're trying to take us by sur- 

A chap, whose name I knew afterwards 
was Captain Waller, had h ; s say. Some of 
our men were beginning to fidget ; it was 
about time someone did speak. 

u Steady, my kids ! Don't lose your heads. 
Everything ready ? Don't make more noise 
than you can help,' 5 He addressed the 
Colonel. u I fancy it's a largish force which 
is approaching, What arc your orders, sir ? 
Shall we hold I hem in check, or cover you ? " 

It seemed a funny question to address to 
the CO*, but somehow the whole jolly lot of 
us seemed to have got into a funny position. 
It didn't seem dignified for Commanding 
Officers to run away, but that was all there 
was left to do* It was out of the question to 
run any risk of having our chief pinched 
by the enemy ; it might result in the entire 
d:sIoration of the general operations. Our 
whole fate lay, to a very large extent, in 
General Loring's hands. If he were made 
prisoner the whole lot of us might be in the 
cart. Recognizing, a little late, the truth of 
this, he turned to his own personal staff and 
began to ascend the slope. It would obviously 
net be easy for the CO. to keep pace with 
him, bnt be did his best to try. 

The men began to get themselves into 
something like order. Captain Waller , whom 
the departure of the others had evidently left 
in command, though he was a stnmgeT to 
my battalion, and I had never heard of him 
before, showed himself no fool — I should have 
liked to have had him take charge of things 
before, I stooped down and picked up the 
German's rifle ; th.ev b^d strapped his hands 

^"ffef^lj?^^ 01 "^ 11 ' but his 



language — even in English — was unworthy 
of a gentleman. Captain Waller had our 
chaps under cover, 50 far as he could get them 
—a smart piece of work it wa;. The general 
order it was not easy to give, but the under* 
standing was that each man should fire as 
soon as he saw something to fire at, breaking 
fresh ground as he signalled. 

It was some time before an > thing actually 
happened — very trying some of those 
moments of waiting are, with your heart in 
your mouth and your fingers i telling to play 
the fool with your trigger. We all knew that 
probably the gentlemen coming up the hiU 
had smelt a rat —in fact, several. They had 
no doubt expected to have news of some sort 
from their scouting associate. His silence 
no doubt roused suspicion. Their comrades 
had had enough of falling into traps during 
the last hw hours ; if they only knew it, they 
were within an ace of f-v-ing into something 
like ano f Ver then. A few :leps farther, they 
would Lave been greeted with a broadside of 
lead which would have been of the nature of 
an unpleasant surprise. Someone ought to 
have been looking after the German, someone 
instructed to thrust a gag into his mouth and 
keep it there — the omission to keep a properly 
watchful eye on him was not the only blunder 
which was made that day. Anyhow t just as 
I was hoping that the ascending force would 
oflcr itself in the open as an unsuspicious 
mark, a sound rent the air which could not 
have been more objectionable had it come 
from a dozen bulls of Bashan . Instead of that 
it came from the throat of a solitary German 
gentleman, who must have lieen collecting all 
h:s breath to enable him to bellow. He 
bellowed in German, What he said 1 did not 
know, but his friends did. There ensued an 
instant general stampede which spoilt the 
game for us entirely . How fax those Germans 
ran, after taking the trouble to come all that 
way up, I could not say. I thought for a 
moment that Captain Waller was going to 
take advantage of their flight to send us after 
them, but, in my judgment very wisely, he 
ddn't. Imtead, he began to give orders as 
to how to hold the position — at least tempo- 
rarily. Half the men he sent t :> the top of the 
slope up which the Brigadier and CO, were 
rill struggling, and from the top of which a 
comparatively good view could l>e obtained. 
Half the /emaindcr, numbering some twenty 
men. he sent away to the left to form a flank 
fuard and to keep an eye in that direction- 
Our noisy prisoner, trussed like a fowl and 
safely gagged, was persuaded to mount the 
slope, assisted by a man on each side and a 

useful bayonet from behind. Then Captain 
Waller hi m self proceeded to ascend in order 
. to talk over matters with the CO* and the 

Personally, I w^as about done up. Fd have 
given all my chances of a war-medal to have 
got three hours' sound sleep on something soft. 
Wherever 1 touched myself something seemed 
to ache, and the more I tried to find a soft 
spot to lie on the more uncomfortable I 

" Say, Sergeant, what do you think that 
affair might be ? ,? 

A man next to me— one of my section, 
named Drew, and a very cute chap and wide- 
awake I had always found him — pointed to 
what looked like a tumble-down shed about 
thirty yards from where the main buttery 
had stood. 

M I was having a look round there just 
before those chaps came on," he continued, 
" and it seemed to me as it might have been 
^ome sort of machine-gun store, judging by 
the short look I was able, to give round." 

When I heard that word " machine-gun" 
I began to feel very wideawake again, just 
as 1 had when that German chap stole up 
alongside of me. 

t4 Machine-gun ? Where ? Bring another 
chap, and well go and have a look. " 

I knew wluit an extremely dangerous 
position the party was in. We were many 
hundred yards from our nearest supports, to 
get to which we had to cross country which 
at this hour — it being about eight o'clock 
and perfectly light — was open to the enemy's 
enfilade fire ; and then, besides, our chefs 
evidently didn't want to let go their hold of 
the battery without a struggle, and knowing 
the fewness of our number and the likelihood 
of the enemy bringing up a big force, 1 didn't 
feel very cheerful about the prospect of an 
attack. But 1 knew something about machine- 
guns — I had been in our section for about a 
month — and I knew well their value at such 
a crisis and in such a struggle. 

So you can imagine I was all on fire to have 
a look at this store, though really I couldn't 
feel much hope of finding anything that 
wasn't absolutely bust in ? so tremendous had 
been the explosion of the night before. How- 
ever, we three advanced to the ruined shed. 
It was bigger and stronger than 1 had at first 
supposed. Nowhere had the force of the 
explosion been more clearly shown. The 
strong wooden planks of the walls and the 
solid rafters of the roof nil of now* sound 
wood, lay flatGriqJnaltfrorii blown down by 
some dei^^^^^ca^cj^ne end was 



smashed and splintered by a huge mass of 
twisted iron which had landed plump into it* 
Through this pap one could plainly see tripods 
and the double-handled brass holding-pieces 
of machine-guns. Down we rushed eagerly 
through the gap. Hut at the first glance my 
hopes were consider ably dashed. The gun 5 
at that end of the shed were completely done 
in ; bent and twisted and broken clean off 
their tripods, they were absolutely useless. 

" Let's try the other end/' said Drew. 
" There's probably some sort of door where 
we can get in," 

So round to the other end w r e went. Drew 
was right. A double swing door had teen 
made in tlrs end, and the knocking down of 
the shed had crumpled the doors up t leaving 
plenty of space for us to wriggle through. I 
got through first ; I had to bend double to 
do so* The first things 1 set eyes on caused 
me to give a shout of joy. They were boxes — 
bmallj grey-painted, tall, ob!ong-top[xd boxes. 


I seized one excitedly, pressed the spring, and 
opened the lid. Plung ng niy hand in, f took 
hold of the contents and held it out to the 
others — a completely-filled cartridge belt. 

*■ That's all right for ammunition/' I said. 
" Now for a workable gun/* 

We groped our way in and struck a match. 
We had difficulty in advancing, as we had to 
remain doubled up, and the floor was covered 
with objects. The match showed up these 
objects — lines and lines of machine-guns. 
Drew exclaimed : — 

" Crikey ! They don't 3 ar[ seem to have 
some guns., these Germans. I almost forget 
what a Maxim looks like, one sees so few in 
our Army/' 

But the guns did not seem as though they 
vere going to be much use to us- A great 
rafter had come down plump in the middle of 
the nearest line and broken all their hacks , so 
to speak. Verv delicate things, machine- 
»^ n f RIWffflteUWWRfll'F wa * we couldn't 




go on any farther as the roof liad smashed 
into the middle of it all. 

Drew and the other man began hauling out 
all that lay near them, passing them to me 
for examination. Bashed in they all seemed to 
be — smashed water-jackets, smashed casing, 
crank handles bent or broken. All seemed 
pretty useless. Suddenly my companions 
pave an exclamation, and handed me one 
that appeared to be in perfect order, I tried 
it ; it seemed to work all right* 

" Come along now, you chaps," I said- 
" Let's pet away with this. We can't mess 
about much longer, or they'll be on us before 
we get hack. You curry the gun, Drew, and 
you, Sharp, bring as many cartridge-boxes 
as you can carry. I'll bring some more," 

Out we got. Drew pulled the gun along on 
its sledge. All the German machine-guns 
are mounted on a sort of wooden sledge, 
otherwise they are practically the same as 
ours. When we got back you should have 

seen the excitement. All our chaps were well 
aware of the critical position-, and, knowing 
the value of a machine-gun, they al! fairly 
gasped with relief. Captain Waller so far 
forgot himself as to shake hands with me and 
say : — 

" Sergeant Briggs, you're a wonder. You've 
found the very thing that w.U enable us to 
hold out till help comes. I thank you." 

M Tisn't me, sir/* I pointed to Urew. 
u That's the chap as found it out," 

The Captain shook Drew by the hand too, 
and thanked him, and promised him pro- 
motion at the very first opportunity. 

" Fancy me a-swanking round at home as 
a blooming corporal ! f1 he said to me later, 
grinning from ear to ear ; but a thought 
seemed to strike him, and the smile flickered 
away, " Hut shaVt I have to stand drinks 
all round, though ! " 

After talking ft over with Captain Waller, 
we de^f},^,^^^ for the gun was 



at the top of the slope, so, without wasting 
any more time, 1 sent Drew up with the gun 
and belts and started to climb up myself. 
First, though, I sent a man for water, which 
there was no difficulty in getting , the Germans 
not having forgotten to construct a big well 
not far from the battery. 

All this hadn't taken very much time, so 
that the first excitement had carried me 
through. Hut that slope brought me back 
to the fact that I was not in the finest possible 
condition for mountaineering, and long before 
1 had got half-way up I had to sit down and 
take a rest. I thought I never should do it. 
But that moment news was brought that a 
big body of the enemy was sighted at not 
many hundred yards' distance, making for 
the battery* 

That did it. I heaved myself up, set my 
teeth, and told myself, " Now, Sam Briggs, 
you Ye not going to make a fool of yourself at 
such a moment. You Ye the only man here 
who knows how to work a machine-gun, and 
you Ye not going to give in. So buck up ! " 

I got to the top of that slope, I collapsed 
into Drew's arms at the top. Everything went 
round me, including a short, tubby man, with 
a grey moustache, who seemed to be throwing 
something at my face* 

I came to ? and found it was only Dn McCann 
pouring brandy down my throat* Th^ 
Brigadier and CO, stood close by. 

M If you can only keep them for twenty 
minutes j Sergeant/' said the Brigadier, (l we 
shall be all right. By then we shall have 
over two thousand men to our help," 

That finished it. We went off in a body 
to select a position for the gun, I pointed out 
a mound on the left flank, where we had a good 
view of their probable line of approach at a 
range of at least twelve hundred yards* 

II That will be a first -rate place to catch 
them by surprise. They don't think we have 
a machine-gun, and nothing but that 
could do them any harm from that point. 
We'll have time to lay several hundred out 
before they'll be able to turn their fire on to 
our position, and by the time they do that 
we can clear out, gun and all, and take up 
a ni< e position in the centre, where we can rake 
them on all sidts," 

This was decided on. We fixed the gun 
up at the top of the mound, just behind a 
small bush, laid the gun at the estimated 
range, filled up the jacket with water, loaded 
up, and waited. 

Well, I think the rest is what they call 

li history/' At least, I know it came out in the 
daily papers, a full report, somewhat too full 
in fact, I know I was said to have fired two 
machine-guns at once,, one with each hand, 
at the same time controlling the firing-line 
on each flank, and many other such 
absurdities^ whereas what I did do was 
simple enough- When the enemy, some 
thousand strong, walked across the alignment 
of my gun, I just put my thumb on the 
double button and pressed, As a matter of 
fact, any fool could have done that, but if you 
had seen the Brigadier, with his glasses in his 
hand, dancing — or rather wriggling, as he 
was flat on his stomach — with joy, you would 
have thought it was something wonderful. 
I kept my thumbs on that button until — 
whiz ! — the water in the jacket boiled over 
and out shot a great cloud of ste^m. We 
hadn't got a condenser, and hadn't; had time 
to look for one. Like greased lightning we 
sheered out of that position, and even as 
we did so we heard the bullets fly over us. 
In ten seconds they had the range of that 
mound, and there wasn't a square inch 
untouched by bullets. . 

But we were well away by tiiat time,, as you 
know, though it isn't true that I carried two 
machine-guns on my shoulders and a couple 
of ammunition boxes on my hack. That 
report accounted for Dora writing to me, 
and saying how strong I must have grown 
to be able to carry two cannon at once ! 

No, far from it. Drew carried the gun, 
the CO. carried one ammunition box, and 
the Brigadier, to all in cents and purposes, 
carried me. 

You know how r afterwards the Germans, 
furious at their loss, began to close round on us 
on all sides ; how> tremendous was their fire ; 
how fierce their rushes; how the gun had to 
clear out from position to position as they 
started turning their fire on to it ; how the 
Colonel was shot through the arm while 
bringing up another cartridge box; how I 
tripped over a log while changing position 
once, and lay there fast asleep until the end 
of the action and the day was ours ; and how 
the Brigadier was the first to pick me up, and 
how, on my being laid out, the Brigadier had 
gone on firing the gun until they ran out of 
water and the barrel gave way ; how he then 
picked up a rifle and fought with the rest, 
until with a rush and a cheer a thousand 
of our men tame up on each flank, and after 
a short bout of cold steel the Germans put 

their arms down and their hands up. 
Original from 

[The thrilling experiences of Sam £riggs ^^\^E^Mk^JiM(\'^^A t ] 

The Art of Mimicry. 

That there are various phases of the art of stage mimicry will he evident 

from the following symposium to which a numoer of artistes — whose 

cleverness and ekill both as impersonators and originators have made them 

so deservedly popular — have contributed.. 

MISS ELSIE JANIS. Unless, however, I bring away a definite 

V imitations are not so much impression from a first view, I know that my 

imitations as impressions of imitation of a performer will not be satis- 

what I feel artistes do. 1 do factory. I saw Sarah Bernhardt, Frank 

not aim at broad mimicry and Tinncy, Ethel Levey, and Harry Lauder, 

the bringing out of broad for instance, whom I portrayed in the first 

characteristics, but rather the version of " The Passing Show " at the 


finer points of the person imitated* Perhaps Palace, on one occasion only each, and the 
that is why I must fed at once that I can same remark applies to my impersonations 

imitate an artiste if 
the impersonation is 
to be successful. 
That is to say, I 
make no deliberate 
study. I see the 
artiste once, If I 
like him (or her) 
I go home and with 
my mother, who is 
my severest critic 7 as 
sole audience j try to 
give an impression 
of that artiste— not 
a cop\% but as I think 
they would impress 
the people, 

Perhaps neither of 
us likes it. If so I 
leave it alone for a 
while — let the idea 
simmer in my mind. 
Then I try again 5 
two or three timeSj 
perhaps. If I then 
begin to Jike the im 
priission, I decide it 
is worth continuing 
with and in due 
course present it to 
the audience. If I 
am still dissatisfied, 
I drop t he idea 

of Gaby D e s 1 y s, 
Vesta Tilley, and 

Ever since I was 
a wee child I have 
mimicked, and, in- 
deed, I think every 
child born is in a 
way a mimic. Real 
mimicry, however, 
cannot be taught, 
only developed- 
When I was quite 
small I saw Miss 
Edna Mav in " The 
Belle of New York" 
before she came to 
London. As soon as 
I got home I at- 
tempted an imitation 
with a palm-leaf fan 
tied round my head. 
Then I went to my 
mother's room — she 
was ill at the time — 
and sang the chorus 
of ft Follow On," 
much to her delight, 
After that I used to 
entertain the family 
with various imita- 
miss Elsie j an is t i o n s, and was 

WHO MRS NOT MAKE UP Kok hQT'^ «Hfcwed, alm0St wIth ~ 

im pronations. PRINCETON UNIVIflllT¥ strillIlt i to 



mimic whom I liked, 
when I Liked, without 
fear of punishment. 
I enjoyed myseli 
h u g e 1 y, no doubt 
much to the disgust 
of some of my rela- 

My first great step 
was taken when I 
was seven vears old. 
I accompanied 
mother to a social 
gathering at the 
White House, and 
was invited to 
entertain the com- 

Without the least 
nervousness I 
mimicked the Presi- 
de nt (President 
Mc Kinky) before 
his Cabinet > much to 
the delight of himself 
and his colleagues. 

When I started 
upon my stage career, 
I was taken to see 
Miss Cecilia Loftus* 
the greatest of all 
mimics, in my opinion. 
It was she who in- 
spired me with the 
idea of becoming a mimic. I 
tried and improved, with her 
example before me, my first 
stage appearance being as 
the pocket edition of Cissie 
Loft us. Since then I have 
impersonated some hundred 
and twenty artistes , the most 
popular imitation of all, I 
suppose, being that of Harry 

Make-up does not trouble 
me, I rely entirely on the 
inflection of the voice and 
the copying of action and 
gesture. That to my mind 
is the true art of mimicry. 


V E K S O .V AT I O V OK M,Ji^ 




1 am not quite sure that I really 
do mimic. If I did perhaps I should 
Ik a httltr actor. I prefer to speak 
oi my imitations as stage caricatures. 
I love to seize upon the main cha- 
racteristics and mannerisms 
of fellow -artistes and other 
people and present these in 
the spirit of broad burlesque 
in as kind a manner as pos- 
sible, although one could, of 
course, be very cruel. But 
everyone is very kind and 
very indulgent. When I 
squared my shoulders in the 
true " Gee Gee 7 ' style and 
had a &et of false teeth 
specially made for prominent 
display in my impersonation 
of George Gros smith there 
were no complaints, But 
then I don't believe a 
man with Grossmith's 
sense of humour could 
censure anybody, 

Lord Lonsdale, too, 
was quite affable when, 
to comply with the de- 
mands of the modern 
r^vue, I impersonated 
him. While I had the 
cigar all right, however, 
the side whiskers, he 
said, were at fault. He 
seemed to be highly 
amused, nevertheless. I 
invariably find that 
public men have the 
keenest sense of humour, 
and no one laughed 
more heartily than Mr. 
Winston Churchill and 
}ir. Lloyd George when 
I indulged in exagge- 
rated mimicry of them- 

I am afraid that my 
figure and extremities 
add little to my imita- 
tion of Mdlk\ Deslys, 
although that delightful 
and clever daughter of 
France has had some 
pleasing things to say 
regarding the imper- 
sonation. It is some- 
a I fawn of a task, how- 
UKWiflSHtY change from 



the dainty Gaby to Horatio Hottomley in 
five minutes in " 5064 Gerrard " at the 
Alhambra. I rely to a great extent on make- 
up, which, of course, helps considerably in 
bringing out, so to speak, the broad points 
of the person imitated. Indeed y in some 
impersonations, make-up is absolutely essen- 
tial, otherwise the words and actions would 
be lost. I could scarcely hope to imitate 
Mr, Matheson Lang in 4t Mr. Wu," for 
instance, without endeavouring to copy his 
wonderful make-up of the ruthless Chinaman. 
At the same time, make-up has its dis- 
advantages, for a fair likeness is not always 
easy to get in a few minutes. Noses 
are my great trouble. I do not 
like the prepared noses, I 
always like to model it 
myself , and readers will, 
therefore, understand my 
difficulty and sympa- 
thize accordingly when 
I had to transform my 
somewhat prominent 
nasal organ into the 
retrousse nose of Mr. 
Gerald du Maurier, 
whose Raffles 1 

them once, and if they have any character- 
istics of which I think I can give a burlesque 
imitation I watch them again to make sure 
of my points and then build up an exaggerated 
copy, I never repeat their lines. I simply 
say what 1 think they might say in the par- 
ticular scene into which I introduce them, 
the imitation being in every sense the 
broadest burlesque. In the case of public 
men — politicians, etc, — I rarely trouble to 
see them. I study their portraits and read 
as much as possible about them, and that 
is usually sufficient groundwork for me to 
build an imitation upon. 


Mimicry is an illusion. Most 

actors and actresses can 

imitate someone else. 

They would not he 

actors and actresses if 

they could not. For 

their whole art is 

mimicry. But the 


mimic }! should be 

a trie to tabloid half- 

a - dozen different 



always delighted to en- 
deavour to imitate. 

Candidly, however, I 
have no favourite 
imitation. Anything 
that is topical is my 
favourite. I am con- 
tinually searching for 
people to impersonate 
and always studying 
types. I have no real 
methods of study. In 
the case of an actor 
or actress, I simply see 

Cj» F< 

characters in eighteen 
or twenty minutes. 
That is the only excuse, 
shall I say, for giving 
imitations. Any art 
there maybe in mimicry 
depends entirely on 
whether the i m p e r- 
senator is versatile, for 
as I have said before, 
all actors and actresses 
can imitate ; therefore, 
i g i n a I ftoYm able to sing, dance, 
"ONUNWfllSfff is hernial. 



Otherwise one is merely doing what scores 
of non-professional mimics could do if they 
wanted to — at least, that is my opinion. 

The greatest test is the voice, as any 
ordinary understudy can imitate gestures, 
movements, and mannerisms. They are the 
easiest to pick up, but to suggest soprano 
and contralto voices alike is where the illusion 
of true mimicry comes in. The next impor- 
tant point is a sense of humour. In fact, 
that and versatility are all there is in it. 

Your own individuality must peep out now 
and then and just point out the mannerisms 
of the artiste in an elfish sort of way and be 
lost again in the imitation. One of my most 
successful imitations is Miss Ruth Vincent. 
Ethel Levey, however, is a great favourite 
with audiences, and I love H doing " her, 
because for me she is quite an achievement, 
as I haven't a contralto note in my com- 
position. That is where the illusion comes 
in — to produce, or seem to produce, different 
qualities of voices. 

One of my test impersonations was I^w 
Hearne and Bonita singing " Hitchy Koo. 5r 
That was " some " sound Lew Hearne pro- 
duced. I own I had to cultivate it } but it 
was one of the best and funniest imitations 
I have had the luck to get, as it was unique. 
That is what I like— imitations out of the 
beaten track, 

I suppose I am a natural mimic, as I have 
always been able to imitate, making my first 
professional appearance at the age of twelve. 
But I never had any ambitions regarding 
imitations ; for as much as i love seeing 
other people do them, I want original and 
entirely creative w r ork. Imitations hamper 

I have never had the slightest objections 
from artistes. They don't mind you (t puUing - 
their leg " a bit. That is how I first hit on 
the idea of showing how famous artistes would 
act and sing in different circumstances ; 
for instance, how Marie Lloyd would sing 
u Every mom I bring thee violets " ; Mme. 
Sarah Bernhardt would render " Snooky 
Ookums": Mrs. Patrick Campbell, "You 
made me love you," etc., etc. Needless to 
say, such burlesques never fail to amuse, I 
should like to say that none of the above- 
mentioned artistes stood in my way, Of 
course, it is always a great courtesy for both 
managers and artistes to permit you to use 
their songs, and should always be accepted 
as such, 

I was three weeks in New York before I 
appeared, and I opened with six new American 
imitations— I suppose it was the lovely 

climate— as I am not always so quick, I 
gave " An English Girl's Impressions of 
American Artistes/ 7 and received the follow- 
ing one night from, I suppose, a galleryite : 
u My Dear Miss Dainton, — The woods are 
full of ' imitators/ but you're away out of 
the woods ! ,s Was ever a compliment 
rendered more charmingly ? 

One of my most successful imitations in 
America was of Miss Maud Adams, the great 
American actress, I also did the prima 
donna from 1( The Chocolate Soldier," and 
their celebrated coloured comedian, Bert 

Among my (t victims'* in this country are 
Ruth Vincent, George Form by, Sarah Bern- 
hardt, Marie Lloyd, Mrs. Patrick Campbell, 
Gertie Millar, Jack Nor worth, Vesta Tiiley, 
Laurette Taylor, Evie Greene, Lily Bray ton, 
Elsie Janis, and Basil Hallam, 

I can't quite tell you how I * ( get " my 
imitations , because I don't quite know — 
it's just a knack —that's all. 


It is many years ago since at the London, 
Shore ditch, I began to give impersonations 
of famous actors. On the occasion of my 
dibut, I remember, I gave imitations of 
Sir Henry Irving, Sir Herbert Tree, E. S. 
Willard, Harry Paulton and Shiel Barry. 
And although it was the cordial reception 
accorded me on thut occasion which 
encouraged me to persevere with my imper- 
sonations, and although since then I have 
imitated probably every actor and variety 
artiste of note, I have always found that 
however clever one might be as a mimic, one 
is looked on not as an originator but as a 
parrot. It was this which led me to desert 
mimicry for a time and play characters from 
Dickens, making monologues and sketches 
out of the characters of the great novelist. 

Certainly there is some justification for 
regarding the mimic as a parrot, for when we 
see an amateur actor giving imitations of 
great men, we find ourselves thinking, 
*' Well, if So-and-so was like that he would 
never have made the name he has done/' 
Probably many readers have beard the story 
told of Toole and nowadays of Nat Goodwin, 
who saw a mimic do a scene of his and after- 
wards remarked, " Say, one of us is rotten," 

Dear old Toole loved my mimicry, and it 
is a source of much gratification to me that 
with my imitations I was able to bring a few 
bright moments into his life in the evening 
of bis days at Brighton. 1 very often used 
to pajF'Sli'^kEK'MmilVtESiidrr^and after dinner 



was over he would raise his glass and give a 
knowing look in my direction, I knew what 
he meant, and I would then drink to him as 
from absent friends, imitating the voice and 
manner of each of those he always held dear. 
I would perhaps commence with Sir George 
Alexander, followed by Sir Charles Wyndham, 
Sir Herbert Tree, and so on, reserving his 
dear old friend. Sir Henry Irving, to the last, 
and he wojjld beam at Irving's voice and say 
i; God bless you, Hwy." 

L mention this because it seems to me that 
to thus be able to people a room or a stage 
is. to say the least, a very gratifying accom- 
plishment. It depends on the artiste, of 
course, as to how far the imitations become 
parrot -like. One must possess creative 
powers to give an imitation, if it is to be 
given with any power and force. 

The readiness with which famous 
actors have given me permission 
to imitate them and the admira- 
tion they have expressed i: 
me conceited enough to think that 
there is some originality and art 
in my methods, although Sir Her- 
bert Tree ran away from my 
imitation of himself on one occa- 
sion. It was at a certain gather- 
ing where he made a speech, and 
hearing I was to lie put up next 
to help entertain the company, 
he promptly decamped, I 
wondered if I had offended 
him, and wrote him to that 
effect, to which he replied 
with his characteristic wit ; 
fct I only left the other even- 
ing at the psychological 
moment because I am 
always rather nervous 
about seeing myself imi- 
tated lest I should lose 
that self-conceit which Is 
so necessary to one's 
aplomb in working." 

Undoubtedly, however, my best 
imitations, both in regard to voice 
and make-up, were those of Dan Leno 
and R, G, Knowles. It was nut until 
one day I went to a garden party at 
Dan's house and to entertain the com- 
pany we decided that he should imitate 
me in some of my Dickens characters 
and I should imitate him, that I 
thought of including impersonations of 
comedians in my repertoire. My imi- 
tation of Dan at the garch 

icli appreciated 

however, seemed so mud 

that I ultimately 
gave it at the old 
Tivoli, and later 
followed with K« G. 

Although I have 
always relied on 
make-up in my imi- 
tations, it is not 
altogether essential, 
and I have always 
noticed that the 

_ . . . . public — as, for 
Original frorfe stamT wlun T 

RINCETON UNI VEAHHd on the stage 



at the Tivoli in jacket suit and no make- 
up to do a " turn M in an emergency 
and gave various imitations, leaving the 
audience to judge who they were — have a 
remarkable knowledge of the particular 
styles of prominent artistes and are quick to 
appreciate a correct imitation. 

Generally speaking, however, audiences 
like burlesques rather than real impersona- 
tions, They prefer George Formby us Romeo 
to Forbes Robertson in 
that character. Person- 
ally, I would sooner do 
real imitations, as it 
seems to me easy to 
seize upon the points of 
an artiste and exaggerate 
them. But if 1 do not 
feel that I can imitate 
an artiste afnr ■« i-:jl: 
him once, I do 
not think I can 
do so at all, for I 
regard mimicry as 
inspiration j n o t 


Really, I hardly 
feel competent to 
express an opinion 
on the art of 
mimicry, for until 
I began to give 
imitations with Mr. Arthur 
Playfair in "Odds and 
Ends M at the Ambassa- 
dor's Theatre not so 
many months ago. I had 
not attempted such 

Like most children I 
was fond cf imitating 
grown-ups and rupv- 
ing their mannerisms 
behind their buck, 
and then going into 
another room to 
make other 
children laug h 
with my crude 
It was very 
rude, of 
course, and 
1 remem- 
ber that I 
felt the 





heaviness of the parental 
hand on one occasion when 
1 was caught making a par- 
ticularly bold impersonation 
of a sensitive relative. 

However, this did not 
stop my fondness for imi- 
tating everybody with whom 
I came into contact 
possessing pronounced 
mannerisms or peculi<- 
arities of voice, in the 
combination of which, 
in my humble opinion, 
lies the true art of 
mimicry. For while, 

fc > 






helpful, I think an 
imitation is more 
effective without de-* 
pending on dress^ 
Moreover, I always 
endeavour to imitate 
exactly. I do not try 
to burlesque, I do 

iainalfroff,*? ""S.* sI 

roNUNivte t " tarusuIlun 






11. V. 

impersonating ought to 
sing it ? bat as they really 
do sing it, or as near as 
possible, which I think is 
the best form of imitation, 
I seriously thought of 
becoming a mimic after 
hearing Basil Hallam on 
the gramophone and 
giving an imitation of his 
voice at a party, "Why 
don't you go on the 
stage ? T ' asked my friends, 
n ho were pleased with my 
performance* Which was 
v< ry nice and flattering, 
and— well , here I am. I 
had some stage experi- 
ence before attempting 
imitations, but I do not 
think it helped me a great 
deal in my impersona- 
tions, as such work seems 
Vol. L-e, 

by Google 

to require a special knack. My impersonation 
of [iasil Hallam has proved perhaps the 
most popular because the original himself is 
so popular. Audiences, too, seem fond of my 
mimicry of Harry Tate and his son, whom I 
present, as Hip and Little Willie, while my 
impersonation of Hiss Elsie Janis as Florrie 
the Flapper seems to be much appreciated. 

I love, however , to impersonate people 
like Miss Laurette Taylor, She is not 
difficult to imitate, particularly in regard to 
her voice, the Irish brogue being very effec- 
tive, Another favourite impersonation of mine 
is that of Miss Lily li ray ton in lA Kismet." 


I have always held the view that the 
presentation of striking contrasts constitutes 
the real art of mimicry. That is why I 
regard my imitations of Mr, G. P. Huntley 
and Frank Tinney as my best. They are in 
no sense burlesques. I try to avoid in my 
impersonations seizing upon 
peculiar points and exagge- 
rating these, although one is 
apt unconsciously to do so, 
I prefer to take, as it were, 
a piece of the work of a 
popular artiste and present 
it in as exact a manner as I 
possibly can, 

The * broad humour of 
Tinney appealed to me as 
soon as I saw him. I had 
my doubts about the " make- 
up/' but having got this to 
my satisfaction, I did not find 
much difficulty in presenting 
an imitation which has proved 
one of the most popular in 
my repertoire. 

I am rather fond of mimick- 
ing Mr, G. P. Huntley, and 
people have been kind enough 
to say. it is one of the best 
impersonations I do ; but 
generally speaking I prefer to 
imitate variety artistes. Im- 
personations of George Robey, 
T. L.I Hmvillo .George Form by, 
Joe Ehin, Harry Tate, etc., 
seem to be most popular, 
And it is not difficult to 
understand why, The music- 
hall public, of course, know 
them so much better than 
actors on the legitimate 
vritlitalififfOlThink I can tell 






you much more of 
striking interest 
about my work. 
Mimicry since I was 
a boy has fascinated 
me, and my victims 
have been invari- 
ably kind and 
tolerant. And my 
grateful thanks are 
due to their magna- 
nimity when! I con- 
sider how badly T 
must have libelled 
some of them, 


There are many 
people who thin- 
that to give an imi- 
tation of a famous 
artiste is necessarily 
to be funny. 1 1 1 
course, one can 
usually raise a laugh 
by burlesquing. But 

by Google, 

that to my mind is not real mimicry or impersonation- 
To give a representation of an artiste exactly as he (or 
she) is, without exaggerating either manners, gesture, or 
voice, is, in my opinion, real mimicry and real artistry, 
I am not speaking now of myself, who plead guilty to 
so many burlesques, but of mimicry in a general sense, 
(imiT,illv >peaking. however, I he public seem to prefer 
the burlesque imitation. Perhaps this is bemuse they 
do not know sufficient of the actor or actress imitated 
to grasp the more subtle points, but understand enough 
to appreciate a broad caricature. So much so, that even 
to be the original may be disappointing, 

I am reminded in this connection of the story of a 
famous tragedian who was on one occa- 
sion behind the scenes in a music-hall, 
A performer who was friendly with 
the tragedian, and who had been giving 
imitations of various noted actors, was 
about to respond to an encore, 

li Whom do you imitate next ? ,J 
inquired the tragedian. 

" Well;' was the 
r e p 1 y, "I was 
going to imitate 
you in Hamlet's 
soliloquy, but if 
you are to be look- 
ing on, I'm afraid 
I shall make a 
mess of it." 

11 What's the 
matter with me 
imitating myself?" 
remarked the 
tragedian ; and 
hastily putting on 
the other actors 
wig and buttoning 
up his coat he 
walked on to the 
stage and delivered 
t h c well - known 

Next morning 
" the impression ol 
t Ik eminent tra- 
gedian "was stated 
by the critics to be 
the poorest imita- 
tion of the whole 
series ! 

After all, how- 
ever, every actor 
and actress is a 
mimic. They 
clothe the mselves 
for the time being 
in the actions, 
mannerisms, and 




thoughts of some 
character they 
have read ahout 
in books or in a 
play which has 
been written, and 
mimic them ac- 
cording to the 
aut hors ideas 
coupled with 
their own. 

Personally, I 
have always 
loved to mimic 
people. There is 
a certain fascina- 
tion in watching 
such actors as Sir 
Herbert Tree, 
Sir George Alex- 
Hawtrey, Sir 
Charles W y n d- 
ham f and Mr* 
Seymour Hicks, 
for instance, and 
endeavouring to 
make yourself 
like them ? and 
then, as a con- 
trast, try a little 
bit of Arthur 
Roberts orWilkie 
Bard "on the 
dog/' My friends 
tell me that they 
like me best as 
Sir Herbert Tree in " David Copperfield," and I must 
confess that 1^ too, have a weakness for endeavouring 
to show the public how he ought to appear hut does 

At one time my great ambition was successfully 
to imitate the late Sir Henry Irving. But when I 
found that hundreds of other people thought, like 
myself, that if one copied his peculiar gait it might be 
considered a passable imitation of the great actor, 
I sought other fields. 

The most difficult actor I have tried to impersonate 
is Mr. Charles Hawtrey, although from 1001-4 I fulfilled 
a long engagement with him. Th-n- is so liitle Ui 
seize upon in regard to his voice or mannerisms. He 
is what I might describe as a quirt u lor whose great 
charm lies in his natural aptitude rather than in any 
idiosyncrasies. Sir George Alexander and Sir Charles 
Wyndham I have found fairly easy, while Mr, Seymour 
Hicks is such a bundle of mannerisms that anyone with 
any pretensions to the art of mimicry should have no 
difficulty in giving a 14 slight impression," to quote the 
favourite phrase t with so versatile a subject before them. 




To be a good mimic 
you must have a fly-paper 
mind. Perhaps the most 
remarkable fart in regard 
to my impersonations of 
other artistes is that if 
I see too much of a man 
I cannot imitate him. I 
have been told that one 
of the best imitations 
I ever did was my 

by Google 

Original from 



impersonation of Alfred Lester in the Revue 
of 1914 at the Palace, Yet to have given 
even a slight impression of him while wc were 
appearing for nearly two years in u The 
Arcadians " at the Shaftesbury would have 
been impossible. 

Again, take the rase of Basil Ifallam, with 
whom I have been appearing so Jong in 
" The Passing Show*" I cannot u imagine 7f 
him at all, for the simple reason that I see 
too much of him. When you see a man 
daily, your mind is apt to become a little 
confused through knowing too much about 
his characteristics when endeavouring to 
seize upon some marked mannerism which 
will enable you to give an impression of his 

Like the caricaturist who seizes upon one 
point for a picture, I must get a man at once 
for a successful imitation. It is no use my 
sitting down to study him. If I cannot 
seize upon one characteristic I give it up* 
And there is something which tells me 
instinctively , after seeing an actor in one 

successful imitation, I usually endeavour to 
add just a touch of burlesque. Not too much 
to make the mimicry exaggerated, but 
sufficient to make the characteristics of the 
person imitated a little more pronounced, 
because I do not think the public like abso- 
lutely exact imitations. It pleases them to 
see points they themselves have seen in an 
actor brought out, so to speak. For instance, 
one of the best of my latest imitations is that 
of Gerald du Maurier in " Raffles," in which 
I neither sing nor talk, but merely add a littlu 
humour to his many mannerisms, which 
gives an added interest and is a very delight- 
ful study. 

I prefer to imitate actors on the legitimate 
stage rather than variety artistes, and nothing 
pleases me better than to impersonate artistes 
such as Mr. Charles Hawtrey, H. B. Irving, 
Henry Ainley, *' Bunty/ 1 Miss Moffat, and 
Eric Lewis. And greatly I have been en- 
couraged by the interest the artistes them- 
selves have shown in me. 

I suppose since the day when I was per- 

performanee, whether my mimicry will be suaded by intimate friends to give an imita 


But then, again, it has sometimes happened 
that I have caught what I thought was an 
admirable idea after seeing an actor, and 
then to my chagrin have lost it* I remember 
going to see Fred Terry one night when he 
was playing in Ai The Scarlet Pimpernel," 
I thought I saw my way to an excellent 
imitation of that popular actor, and went 
to bed very pleased with myself. In the 
morning, however, I had completely lost the 
idea, and now whenever I see Mr, Terry he 
remarks with a chuckle : — 

"It's no good. Keys, you can't imitate 
me," But I intend to have a good try next 

When I have got what I think will be a 

tion of Mrs. Patrick Campbell at the Green 
Room Club dinner, I have tried to imitate 
most of the leading artistes of the day. To be 
imitated is the penalty which every actor with 
a strong individual style has to pay ; but I 
am inclined to sympathize with them when 

I think of the story of the provincial visitor 
to London who conscientiously " did " a 
round of metropolitan entertainments, at 
nearly every one of which some comedian 
or other imitated Mr. George Graves, At 
last the voyager reached a theatre at which 
Mr. Graves was actually engaged. When 
the comedian entered, the provincial audibly 
protested to his companions that he was 

II sick of these fellers imitatin' George 
Graves/ 5 

M. SiTn 1 Phut&ft. bv Wntthtr & Buys; V. Wal*mi, Photos, by Claude Harris mid Foulsham & Ranfield* R Williams 

P holes, by Ellis & Watery, and Foalsbarn & tin n field; A. Play fair, Pliuios, by KIIK& WaWy ;im! h\mlsbam & Banfield ; 

R + Hak T Pboio. by JMiiy Mirror $ and N, Kcys>, Pboius. by Fcnahiiam & Lkmlidd. 

by Google 

Original from 


HEN Tannahill reached his 
old camping-place just above 
the little cataract he was- 
mildly interested. There were 
evident signs of a recent 
encampment, and so far as 
he could judge they were not 
more than a day old. He browsed about 
among the bushes with an aroused expectancy 
quickening his detective forces ; and he found 
tins of two kinds. One had contained meat 
and bore a known American name ; while the 
other had the insignia of a proprietary Swiss 
milk. Who the dickens, he reflected, could 
be using Swiss milk in that wilderness ? Who 
the deuce would have the meticulous thought 
to carry Swiss milk several thousand miles to 
a mid-African forest ? 

He seemed to get his answer a little later, 
when after supper he was stretching himself 
idly and wearily in the dusk, and the boys 
were gabbling about their fire after the work 
was done. His right hand, moving at random 
on the surface of the earth, was brought up 
by something which his subconscious sense 
recognized as requiring an explanation. His 
fingers closed on it and he carried it to his 
eyes. It was absolutely amazing, but there 
could be no question : it was a hairpin he held. 
Who was this woman astray in that 
hazardous country? A hairpin! Symbol 
of civilization and home, and charged with 




sweet and bitter memories of old days — 
of youth, of summer evenings on the 
river, of theatre parties, of dances. Oh ! 
he turned impatiently from the reverie 
with a shrug of his shoulders. He had 
been three years in this outland waste, 
and had almost t>egun to forget. Well, he 
had better forget. This rush of memories 
through his mind, provoked so absurdly 
by a trivial object , seemed altogether 
When he was striking camp in the morning 
he thought of his predecessor again, and 
wondered what she did there, and whither 
she had gone. But on the march, the thought 
passed from him ; he was occupied by other 
cares, and one in particular — which centred 
on Obutu, He had misgivings about Obutu, 
whose evil reputation was widespread, and 
had even reached the Tanganyika missions ; 
and yet to follow out his plans would carry 
him right through the Kalili country. His 
expedition, which was now in its third year, 
included in its scheme the exploration of the 
headwaters ot the Wcolo ; and he was cer- 
tainly not going to return without attempting 
this. His Euro{>ean companion and friend, with 
whom the work had been originally under- 
taken, slept, alas! in the deep silence of the 
wilderness three hundred miles away. Tanna- 
hill refused to turn back. 

That night he camped on the hank of the 
river, and on the following afternoon he came 
up with Philippa Maidment's party, 

Tannahill 1 s first feeling was one of amaze- 
ment, and then it gave way to a definite and 
sensible pleasure. Across the hundreds of 
yards of open which still separated them after 
he emerged from a piece of jungle he could 
detect the helmet ed head and short skirts 
and gaiters of a woman, and the recognition 
frankly thrilled him after the instant's surprise. 
He made haste inwards her, 


4 6 


" Will you allow me to restore you your 
property?" ho said, showing his teeth above 
his short heard in smiling delight ; for he had 
by an odd whim kept the hairpin* 

"Thanks!" she said, echoing his smile ; 
and then, with a laugh, * 4 Won't you introduce 

i( I can introduce myself/' he said. * ( John 
Tannahill, very much at your service, and 
engaged in exploration for the Geographical 

She looked at him as if considering for a 
moment ere she replied* 

il Philippa Maidment, on her own," and 
laughed again. His glance took in the 
" boys/ 1 who had halted with their packs and 
bundles, and were gazing with some curiosity 
at the two whites. 

14 You are not hy yourself ? " he asked, 

u Indeed, I am/' she answered. 

He made no comment on that ; but inquired 
as to her itinerary. It seemed she had come 
from Mombasa, and had been three months 
on the road. It had been splendid-- ' most 
exhilarating ; I mean the feeling of these vast 

He smoothed out his moustache. " Didn't 
you meet anyone ? " he asked, half -play fully. 

" Oh, a few. 1 had a delightful experience 
at a village belonging to the Wamboso." 

H Oh, yes ; old Kassuva — nice old hoy/' 
He stroked his beard as it were thoughtfully. 

11 Where did you manage to find this? ? * 
she asked. 

' l Oh, that ! I succeeded you in camp by 
the rapids. You see, it was mine originally/' 

" It was wonderful ! " she said, with 

" What do you say to tea ? " he inquired, 

Her eyes twinkled, and her smile became 
her. ,k I've got tinned milk/' she said. 

'* I haven't tasted milk for five months. 
That was why I suggested tea/' he said. 

" How did you know " she began* 

11 I have been three years in darkest Africa/' 
he said. " Besides, a Swiss tin H 

u Oh ! " she laughed happily, "I'm so 
glad to speak English once more. Do let*s 
have tea/ 7 

He issued orders to his ^ boys." who began 
at once to make preparations under a spread- 
ing tree, As they talked Tannahill had 
opportunities of inspecting her, and his 
verdict was favourable. She w x as, he guessed, 
thirty years of age, of middle stature, good 
complexion and features under the African 
tan ; and there was an air of energy and 
resolution in her mien. Her talk was full of 

Digitized by OOOQ IC 

intelligence, and she evidently prided herself 
on being 4 * in the movement/' She was one 
of the most up-lo-date young women he had 
come across. She talked a good deal, because 
he pressed her with questions. He had been 
so long out of civilization, and he wanted to 
hear of European things from an observer and 
witness at first hand, 

" And now tell me about yourself/' she 
said, at last, 

44 There are no political or social movements 
in Central Africa/* he said, with a smile, 
u You are just interested in yourself and 
nothing more," 

" Your work ? " she queried, 

" Well j that's yourself, in a way/ he said. 

"And you've accomplished what you 
wanted to do ? " she inquired, with interest, 

M Not all/' he replied. t( I should have 
done so if poor Turton hadn't died/ J 

" Ah ! " her exclamation, breathed gently, 
was sympathetic, 

" He died of fever twelve months back in 
the Shuta country/' he explained, " He was 
the brains of our expedition — one of the finest 
biologists and choicest spirits I have known, 
I'm a mere surveyor, 1 7 

lt I think you must be more than that/' she 

" Not much/' he said, smilingly, " But 
I'll take back what I can. Look ! " He 
pointed up the great river to where it dis- 
appeared in a bend towards the ranges. 4t It's 
a lure ■ it's a bait. There's something attractive 
about it. Do you remember Kipling ? 

Something hidden. Go and find it* Go and look 

behind the Ranges 
Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and 

waiting for you. Go I 

Well, Fll take all I can back, even if it isn't 
much. I'll find something/' 

She looked at him with interest and with 
something else in her gaze. He was a fine, 
lean ? bronzed man of five-and- thirty, without 
any pretensions to good looks. But he 
impressed her with a sense of power, 

" I'm sure you'll do what you want," she 
said, simply. 

N( And you ? " he turned abruptly from his 
vision. There is a vision, there is idealism in 
science no less than in art. 

" 1," she said, " am on my way to the 

He stirred , wondering if he had caught the 
name rightly. l( The Congo ! ,J he repeated. 

14 Yes — I want to go down the Kasai River 
to the coast/' 

u But that will take you through the 

K;illll >" he affinal from 



" I know/ 1 

" Do you know about the Kalili ? — their 
reputation ? Have you heard of Qbutu ? " 

-< They said something about it at the 
mission station/" she said, carelessly. 

There was silence for fully a minute, and 
then he replied. 

"If they told you the facts you would 
surely not be here ? " 

" Why not ? nl she asked, sharply. 
" Because Obutu is a devil incarnate — 
because the Kalili have the vilest reputation 
in Central Africa; because — oh, because it's 
impossible — I mean this trip of yours/* 

She set her face firmly, " I don't agree 
with you, I have found no difficulty all the 
months I have been travelling, I am not 
without experience of the African t rites/' 

" Tamed— pap- fed — children," he ejacu- 
lated, impatiently. 

tK You are evidently one of those who think 
women are incompetent to do things that 
men do/' she said, with asperity. 

u Heaven knows I couldn't do what women 
do/' he murmured* 

She was not mollified. (t People like you 
are living in the past," she went on* *' Men 
and women are not on the terms they were 
in the boasted Victoria epoch- That time 
has gone by. We are in a new era*" 

"* Yes," he saidj quietly, almost inter- 
rogatively, as if he wanted to hear more ; 
but she had shot her bolt and relieved her 
mind. It was ridiculous to spend the time 
quarrelling with the first real human being 
you had seen for two months, She looked 
up the river where the dusk was gathering. 
" You are going that way ? " 
" Yes," he assented. 

(t I wonder— would you mind if we w r ent 
together so far as our paths are similar ? " 
" It w r ould charm me," he said. 
There was no further reference to the 
subject of her expedition that night, but 
when Tannahill had retired to his tent he sat 
still for some moments, after knocking out 
his pipe, 

M Oh, the dear fool ! " he said at last, 
*' And this is what higher education and the 
feminist movement means ! " and, having said 
so much, he sank upon his blankets, stared 
through the opening in the tent at the stars, 
and passed into deep thought. It w f as late 
before he fell asleep. 

In the pass of the gorge a thunderstorm 
shook the hills. It had seemed formidable in 
the plains ; here it was terrific. The lightning 
burst from depth to depth of the heavens, 
and the deluge overwhelmed them in a place 

ligilized by GoOgie 

where cover was impracticable* The river 
below boiled, and sent up columns of strum 
or mist, and Miss Maidment looked down at 
it with awe. 

* fc I have never seen anything like this/ 1 
she murmured. 

" You are wet through," he said, 

She laughed, " You will never get over 
those old-world notions al>out women/* she 
said. " So are you-" 

He spoke after a moments silence, and 
rather solemnly. " See here, Miss Maidment, 
I want to put an appeal to you P Please 
consider it. I have a rude knowledge of the 
country, and there is a tributary of the Weolo 
from the south. The pass there would take 
you Zambezi way. Take it. For Heaven's 
sake, take it ! You don't know where you're 

goi ng , Obutu ' ' 

She laughed. " You think he'll be a sort 
of thunderstorm. Well, you see I'm not 
afraid of a thunderstorm/* 

The gorge suddenly crackled and roared 
with the discharges in that narrowed gulf, 
and for a moment all else was wiped out. 
They could only see each other ; and then as 
suddenly again the whole pass flashed into 
vivid and unnatural light, and the artillery 
rolled overhead. 

" I f m not afraid," she was saying, when 
the thunder passed. He put a hand on her 
arm, on which the savage rain was descending. 
** No, nor of that," she cried, triumphantly. 
'* Women are not where you left them," 

* s I wonder if that is true ; or, being true, 
whether it is of any use," he said. 
" It is progress," she claimed, 
*' Progress ! " he mused, and suddenly 
abandoned theoretical discussion. " Obutu 
spent some months at the missioa stations, 
was considered to have embraced Christianity, 
suddenly disappeared, and was next heard of 
as in re% T olt against his paramount chief in 
Kalili. By the most infamous savagery he 
made himself master of this region, and his 
history since, so far as rumour lias spread it, 
has been incredibly inhuman." 

iH + Enter Rumour painted full of tongues/ " 
she quoted, smiling. 

" 1 propose to follow the river," he said, 

" That should be my route also, so far as 
(Man/ 5 she said, pleasantly. 

The thunder burst above them, and the 
lightning illumined the gorge. She stood 
thus exposud to the ferocious elements 
without a symptom of fear or dismay. He 
could not but admire that fine folly, and yet 





in his heart he experienced a feeling of anger. 
It was in a state of indignation that he made 
his entry into the country of the KalilL 

Fhilippa interpreted his silence as dis- 
approval, and resented it. She felt more de- 
termined than ever to adhere to her resolution. 

and to disprove the frail and artificial 
theories of mere man. She had triumphantly 
overcome the difficulties of wild African 
travel, and showed what a woman could do on 
her own devices. She would demonstrate still 
further and .QfiidEKPftliffifil^ the emancipation 




ho so 

of woman and her claim to equal rights 
and equal powers. They had gone through 
the gorge about midday ; and it was late in 
the afternoon when they had the first news 
of Obutu. 

It was about six of the long equatorial day 
when Choka, one of TannahilFs "boys," who 
spoke English after a fashion, came in from 
the van and reported the presence of natives. 
Choka was in charge of Tannahill's scientific: 
apparatus, and was proud of his trust. The 
boys were wayward, tricky, faithful, and 
came of a fighting stock, as Tannahill knew. 

Miss Maidment's bearers 
he hud recognized at 
once as a docile, peace- 
and soft folk from the \V a ni- 
di strict, Choka, who knew 
something of Obutu and the Kalili, 
was full of eager excitement* He an- 
ticipated a '* brush/' Looking round on 
the cumbered party Tannahill wondered if 
he were right in going ahead. Miss Maidment 
was smiling. 

" Now it is getting interesting,'' she said. 
It pot more interesting in the next hour 
when the advance party were attacked in the 
bush and driven in. The Kalili were well 
armed with old -patterned rifles. They dodged 
through the forest, and fired into the crowded 
pick of Miss Maidment's frightened bearers, 
Tannahill, who was a dozen yards from MlSS 
Maidment at the time, called to her quietly :— 
iL Drop down where you are behind that 

She seemed to hesitate a moment, and then 
obeyed. With a glance at the oncoming 
savages he slipped across to her after an order 
to Choka. A fallen tre^ offered a natural 




barrier to the attackers, and Tannahill took 
cover behind it with a dozen or more of his 
" boys, 1 ' These liud all been accustomed to 
the use of firearms, being many of them in 
their third year of service under the white 
man. They took their places at a gesture 
from him, and liegan firing. Xn one of them 
was a super-excellent marksman, but the 
Kalili came on in insolent defiance of their 
foe- They were evidently in superior 
numbers ; but a good many fell before the 
rather hysterical fire of the ** boys." Tanna- 
hill exhausted his magazine, and looked round 
for Miss Maidrnent, To his horror he saw 
that she had left the tree, and was drawing 
near to him. He put up a gesticulating arm. 
u Go back ! Go bark ! Drop to your knees, 
for Heaven's sake ! " 

The spit of a clumsy fire emerged from the 
brushwood. His outstretched arm seized her 
and unceremoniously dragged her down, She 
stumbled and fell to his clutch quite 
awkwardly and roughly. He turned and 
began to discharge the refilled magazine, but 
even as he did so had a sickening sense of the 
use Less ness f >f his action. From belli nd the 
trees emerged a fresh band of Kalili ; they 
would be overpowered by the sheer weight of 
numt>ers. Behind the trunk which shielded 
him and the woman, who had dragged herself 
to her knees and was gazing with fascinated 
eyes at the scene, were three or four dead 
" boys " ; others were keeping up a ragged fire 
from different points. But the Kalili advanced 
recklessly ; and suddenly turning, Tannahill 
saw a detachment breaking through the 
undergrowth from the rear. It was all up ! 

Miss Maidment had followed his gaze, and 
she, too, saw the new danger, though she did 
not fully comprehend all that it involved, 

*' Do you think they'll beat us ? ** she asked, 

Tannahill did not answer for a moment ; 
there flashed through his mind a question. 
He had a horrible, despairing feeling that he 
would fait of his duty and not turn the last 
shot in his magazine against his companion. 
It was his duty. He knew it ; he knew it — 
and he dared not, 

" We can go on fighting till all is' over," 
he said at last, il or we can surrender. 
Which rt 

" We will surrender, then," she said, 
breathing deeply. Life was sweet to her ; 
she did not like the look of death as it 
engirdled her so starkly there. Surrender ! 
He dropped the muzzle of his rifle, realizing 
that they were both covered by guns from 
two sides. A big native with the air of 

Digitized by LiOOglC 

authority advanced with a gesture. He wore 
a ridiculously battered army cap. 

" Him captain," whispered Choka at 
Tannah ill's ear, 

" Ohutu ? " inquired Tannahill. 

u No— Obutu no big. Me talk him/ 1 

Choka got to his feet and made a cere- 
monious gesture, a salaam such as had never 
been learned under the missionaries* Tannahill 
listened to some jabber, and then Choka 

* l Him say — take you Obutu -mem also, 
No hurt." 

' Thank goodness/* said Miss Maidment. 
u They appear to have some inklings of 
civilized usage." 

The big Kalili had turned. Twenty yards 
away Philippa's M boys " were standing in a 
frightened group, like hunted, expectant 
animals. More talk passed between the 
captain and Choka, and Tannahill impatiently 
demanded what it portended, 

" Him ask how many packages. Him 
want boys." Choka spread out the fingers 
of both hands. The Kalili had evidently 
determined on hU carriers, and orders were 
given sharply, Choka cheerfully undertaking 
their superintendence. This was the work of 
only a few minutes, and at the end the 
bundles had all been shouldered. There 
remained some seven or eight of Miss Maid- 
ment' s boys bur den less, 

14 This man lias a system. He seems an 
organizer, Jt Her immediate fears relieved, 
this attempt at light and disinterested 
comment broke from her. It jarred on the 
man for some reason, and he pointed. 

" Organizer ! Yes ; look I " he said. 

She looked. Half-a-dozen of the Kalilis, 
armed with rifles, were coolly engaged in 
shooting down the defenceless ll boys " 
who remained over. The captain bid got his 
tally; these were superfluous encumbrances. 

A low cry of horror broke from Philippa's 
lips. She had had a taste of war and had set 
her teeth together, but this was not war ! 

Obutu's capital lay on the river a day's 
march away, and the prisoners were treated 
considerately on the road. They were fed 
with good, fresh food, meat, and vegetables, 
and Philippa's spirits rose. After all she 
reflected, Obutu had come in contact with 
civilization and doubtless had absorbed some 
of its amenities. The horrid acts she had 
seen had been the commission of his underling, 
who had evidently strict orders as to the 
safety and comfort of the captives. ( huka, 
who was allowed some liberty, confirmed 
these favourable impressions by his cheerful 



S 1 

garrulity. But Tannahill knew him for a 
child -like liar, and did not lay much stress 
up* in his views, Choka's gossip among the 
Kalili had brought scraps of knowledge which 
he emptied into the ears of the white people. 
Obutu had an organized army of many puns 
— he was a slave-raider into surrounding 
territories — he had great stores of ivory — he 
w j as a great man — he had white men at his 

It was on that last statement that Philippa 
fastened* Obutu might be a tyrant and a 
slaver— that was the way of equatorial kings ; 
but if there were whites at his capital it was 
evident that he was not so barbarous as 
rumour had stated. Tannahill made no 
attempt to disabuse her mind of its optimism ; 
indeed, he encouraged her, acting as cheerfully 
as though they were launched suddenly on a 
surprising and unexpected but quite pleasantly 
exciting expedition. By the afternoon of the 
following day, when they arrived at Qofan, 
she had been worked into a very hopeful 
mood. Oof an was a large, widespread village 
built of mud and wattles, a sort of glorified 
kraal* The kings "palace' 1 was in the 
centre of the kraal. 

Tannahill was now separated from Miss 
Maidment, and placed under guard in a hut 
near the river/ It was with deep concern 
and terrible misgivings that he impotent! y 
endured the parting. He was treated well, 
as heretofore, given good food, and left to his 
own devices. Three hours passed , and the 
brief twilight was over* Darkness was 
settling in the hut when Miss Maidment, to 
his astonishment , was ushered in by native 
guards. One of the Kalili brought a lantern, 
which he swung from the roof, and it shed a 
pleasant glow. Miss Maid men t eyed it with 
a smile. 

" Another sign of dawning civilization/ ' 
she said. " I recognize the brand, do you ? 
It's one of those two-and-elevenpenny things 
at the stores/' she laughed. " I've seen 
Obutu. Really it was a wonderfully interest- 
ing experience. I wouldn't have missed it 
for anything. He's — well, he's a native, of 
course, but he is a very superior one. There's 
a missionary staying here. Obutu wants to 
be regarded as European." 

- 1 Is that why he took us prisoners? " he 
asked, mildly. 

" Of course that's his barbarian aspect ; 
but he's quite attractive — interesting that is, 
in his way* He's not what you would 
imagine — a medium-sized, lithe, cadaverous- 
looking man of forty, with very civil manners 
and quite a nice smile." 

ed by L^OOgle 

" He spoke to you ? " Tannahill was 

41 Yes/' she laughed, in embarrassment, and 
went on with a forced air of indifference, 
" It seems he did me the honour to admire 
me. Choka interpreted. I told him what I 
wanted to do — do what no other woman — or 
man either — had done, and he seemed to 
understand. He nodded, and then made 
through Choka the ridiculous suggestion that 
I need go no farther. In fact;* she laughed, 
" he proposed to me," 

Tannahill looked at her fixedly. Her fare 
was flushed und she was under evident 
emtjurrassment, "It was an awkward 
situation/' he observed, slowly, " and I 
should like to know the upshot." 

" Oh , of course I declined," She was 
exceedingly nervous by now } and showed it, 
" He has religion of a sort. There is a 
Presbyterian minister— I told you. He said 
that this minister could perform the marriage 
ceremony. Oh, it is humiliating to talk of ! " 

11 But you succeeded in putting him off ? ?I 
he insisted. 

Suddenly she broke out almost with 
defiance. il Yes — at a cost, I lied, you know. 
You won't mind. I said I was your wife, 
and couldn't be his. You see, he has brought 
back some sort of Christianity from the 
mission stations. He has this Presbyterian 

minister " She broke off, " You don't 

mind ? It seemed the easiest way out," 

£i Why, of course not. Did you think I 
should ? The mere idea is an honour." He 
looked smilingly at her. 

She seemed relieved, but thanked him with 
an exhibition of nervousness w r hich he had 
hardly anticipated. Then she passed to 
other subjects, in the midst of which they 
were interrupted by the entrance of armed 
natives and Choka, The latter explained 
that Miss Maidment must retire to her 
lodgings, which, it turned out, was a hut a 
hundred yards away. 

When she w f as gone brightly, Tannahill sat 
brooding over the news she had brought. His 
reflections were acute and lasted long, and 
occasionally passed into spoken language— 
as thus : — 

" Now, why the deuce did Obutu let her 
come here ? " and, again, " Poor dear fool ! 
Poor — — " and silence. He had thrown over 
his considerations in a tumult of worry in 
order to sleep, when once more he had a 
visitor, The room was dark now, but by the 
inflowing light of the moon he recognized that 
the man who had entered was not a native* 





by Google 

Original from 



£i *Ssh ! " enjoined a voice. " Speak low. 
1 don't want to arouse anyone. Fm the Rev, 
David Moss. I've been here for three 

" Mr. Moss, you're welcome— to my prison," 
said Tannahill. 

" I've come to see you about the terrible 
business, I have a staunch friend among the 
Kalili, whom I saved by medical attention. 
I am a medical missionary. That is why I 
am here ; but we must be careful, Your wife 
is across the way. I don't think she realizes, 
but you have to know/ 1 

** I know already," said Tannahill, quietly. 

if What ! You know that you are doomed ? " 

" What else could it be ? 1 have some 
knowledge of Obutu." 

11 Once I thought otherwise/' said the 
missionary, in sad tones. £l I had hopes 
of converting Obutu really to Christianity. 
That is why I did not resent my captivity at 
first. He was amiable and 1 had plenty of 
liberty, and he seemed to like to talk to me. 
He expressed belief in certain dogmas. I had 
hopes that the Lord n 

" Mr. Moss T " said Tannahill, r - have you 
ever read the history of the Hau Hau War in 
New Zealand ? " 

" No,'' said the Reverend David, 

" Well, it is interesting. If you ever get 
out of this read it. The Hau Haus blended 
the instructions of the missionaries with their 
own paganism, and the result was remarkable 
—Judaism, Christianity, and Maori super- 
stitions all woven into a Web, I think your 
Obutu must lie another example." 

" I don't know, I have hoped against 

hope — he seems to have some inkling of 

But it is about yourself I came, Mr, Tannahill, 
Obutu has resolved to wed your wife. He is 

a determined man, And that means " 

He paused, 

" My going." put in Tannahill, dryly. " I 
understand, and acknowledge the wonderful 
civilizing effects of missionary work/' 

41 Of course I should refuse to perform the 
ceremony/' said the Reverend David, quickly- 
** But don't think Fve merely come to tell 
you that, I can offer better help. There is 
this native who is attached to me. He has 
charge of you. 1 can arrange with him for 
an escape, I have arranged it — at least, an 
escape from Oofan, There is a boat on the 
river at this moment, and vou have onlv 
to " 

" Alone ? " interrupted Tannahili., with 
sudden query. 

The minister shook his head sadly. *' Yes, 
there is no possibility of arranging your wife's 

escape. It is only because Imbah is in charge 
here that- — " 

" I am infinitely obliged," said Tannahill, 
again interrupting without ceremony, " but I 
could not go alone." 

" I understand your feelings/* said the 
missionary, hurriedly. " I have never ceased 
to revolve the situation in my mind* I 
guessed you would feel like this. But it was 
my duty to do what I could — to make my 
offer. Your staying will do no good," 

He eyed Tannahill, tjuestioningly, 

** I thank you," said the latter, simply, 
" When is it to be ? " 

i( At dawn," said the other, 

M Well, Fm ready/' He paused. " What- 
ever you can do for— for her — I will trust 
you to do." 

" I will do all that is humanly possible/' 
said the missionary, earnestly, " and when 
God helps, anything is possible/ 1 

The dawn was not far off, and when he was 
alone Tannahill made no attempt to rest. 
He sat on the mud floor of the hut revolving 
many thoughts. Some of these contained 
strange and wayward glimpses of delight ; 
but in the main his reflections were black and 
tragic. From sheer exhaustion he dropped 
into sleep, from which he was awakened by 
his guards. As he marched out into the 
open ; where the night was dispersing in a 
mist of gold, he had one persistent thought 
—that he ought to have had the courage to 
use his revolver when the Kalili fell upon 
them, He saw Philippa Maidment, staring 
as she rested on her knees beside him in the 
forest — staring with a glow of excitement in 
her eyes at the nnroming natives. He ought 
to have used his revolver then. He shuddered 
and shut his eyes ; and she drifted across 
their spiritual vision still He stumbled 
against one of the guards, and suddenly 
opened his eyes to a wild turmoil. 

Someone was struggling, fighting w + ith 
natives, and it came to him with a sense of 
wonder and awe that it was a white woman. 
It was Philippa, whose face had been drifting 
before his inward vision at that moment. 
She had broken from the stalwart Kalili who 
h^d opposed her progress, and who was 
obviously under orders to treat her tended v. 
She reached TannahilPs side breathlessly, 
crying : — 

*' Mr, Moss has told me. It is true. Oh h 
heavens, I've signed your death-warrant ! 
And you— you never said a word. Oh, 
heavens ! " she panted , and put her arms 
about him suddenly, with frightened, flaming 




"on, hraveks, i've sk;\ed your dkath- warrant ! " 

by Google 

Original from 



" Hush, Miss Maidmrnt ! Do you think I 
should have been allowed to go in any 

• . 

" You could have escaped— you refused ! " 
she cried, and buried her face on his shoulder. 

Tannahill was strangely and intimately 

11 It is of you I am thinking," he said } 
brokenly. *' I should have shot you there. 
That was my mistake. 1 should have shot 
you. But I dared not. I was a coward/ 5 

* No, no ! " she whispered, " It is all 
right* I have made him promise — the 
missionary. He can get me a revolver. He 
refused first, but I made him promise, He 

At this juncture strong hands separated 
them roughly. Tannahill guessed that it was 
only because the friendly native, Imbah, was 
in charge that their interview had been so far 
uninterrupted. But now the end was come. 
In the grey dawn the black cloud of Kalili 
shut her off from him, and the desolate march 

Tannahill said afterwards that he had no 
real sight of Qbutiu His vision was dimmed, 
partly because of the obscure light, and partly 
because he was nu longer occupied with his 
surroundings. There was an inward vision 
still. Vet he was aware of a cadaverous 
shadow somewhere in the distance, of a troop 
of natives with guns, and of an interested 
assembly in the open space in among the huts 
in which he stood, 

A stir in the section of the crowd away to 
his right suddenly arrested him. drawing his 
eyes ; and he saw men running. He was 
aware of that, and then of a break in the 
swarm of natives, as of a mob that heaved 
and swayed ^.nd dispersed, leaving a gap 
open, The cadaverous figure emerged into 
prominence, faded, and was blotted out in a 
rush of black forms. There was a noise of 
firing, and then a stream of flying natives 
through the lines of the houses, Tannahill 
suddenly heard the rattle of a machine-gun ; 
and, his senses quickened now, marvelled and 
stared. He was alone, at least unguarded 
in a crowd of disorganized savages ; and he 
began to walk away- No one paid him any 
heed. The machine-gun spluttered viciously 
from somewhere near. Tannahill was aware 
of dead and dying. 

At the opening of the square he met a 
short, dark, sunburnt European who waved 
an arm to him, 

1 We are just in time/* he said in French, 

" Within thirty seconds," answered Tanna- 

by Google 

hill, breathing deeply now, " May I ask to 
whom I owe my life ? " 

" Captain Wylendt, of His Belgian Majesty's 
Congo Service." said the new-comer. " We 
have long had our eyes on Obutu. We 
determined to get him when we could. He 
has been raiding our territory for years. We 
made a dash for it down the river. Our base 
is twenty miles away." 

M I congratulate you, and I thank you/' 
said Tannahill j simply. t( You know ? ,1 

" The priest met us. We dropped down 
unexpectedly ; and there is a lady, too." 

" Yes." Tannahill looked anxious, The 
captain grinned. 

** Oh, they're hopelessly beaten — in flight. 
Our pun was the trump card," 

" And Obutu ? " 

The captain grinned again. The Congo 
has its secrets. 

It was two hours later, and Tannahill had 
eaten a hearty breakfast supplied by the 
friendly Belgian. Miss Maklment also had 
been a guest, and the missionary. Now 
duties had called these and other officers of 
the expeditionary force away. Till then the 
course of the conversation had been general. 
Now a silence had intervened, and was growing 
awkward. Philippa rose and looked across 
the river on the bank of which they were, 

lt I'm glad to W going bark/" she said at 

" Y^ou arc willing to give up the project of 
crossing to the Congo coast ? " he asked, 

" Yes, I shall return to Mombasa," and 
then she add?d: — 

" And you ? " 

*' No, I shall finish my work. It will take 
me a week/ 5 he said, slowly, Li and then I am 
going down to Mombasa to meet my wife." 

There was a perceptible pause, and then 
she said, in a curious voice which seemed to 
rush over the words, "I didn't know you 
were married, It will be nice. You will be 
glad to " 

u You remember what you told Obutu ? " 
he asked, 

lt That I was ? Yes," She had paled 

and looked at him piteously. u You forgive 
me? " 

" Goodness gracious/' he said ? suddenly, and 
laughed aloud. il I told the Belgian the 
same thing just now." She looked frightened, 
wondering, " Don't make it false, dear," he 
said, and put out his arms, 

" No, no, I was afraid^- 1 thought- — " 
She ended in a sob, but the sob was in his 

Original from * 


A Confession-Book for Artists. 

Here is a continuation of the novel adaptation of ttc old idea of Confession- 
Books, the questions beingf answered by artiste, not in writing but by pictures* 
Our readers may look forward to otker adaptations* of tke Confession-Book 

m succeeding numbers* 





I S* aKCtf LK A S V IO L 6) t KRO NT 


roan Auovt 







- linal fram 















vim a I from ~ — 


"viola made his acquaintance at a 


IKK the devoted brother and 
affectionate old bachelor uncle 
that I am , I was naturally at 
hand to meet my sister and 
niece on their return from St. 
Augustine, They had been 
away a long time — three or 
four months — and I had missed them as much 
as an old dog who had been left at home with 
the servants. They were all tin* family 1 had, 
and when a man is past forty and is beginning 
to get a little bald arid grey, such ties mean 
more and more to him, and no acquaintance, 
however wide, can exactly replace them. 
That Kitty had teen a widow for many years 
had helped h I suppose, to draw us closer 
together than is usually the case with middle- 
aged brothers and sisters, and if I had had a 
daughter 1 could scarcely have loved her more 
than I did Viola, When I saw them coming 
towards me in the stream of passengers, both 
so pretty in their different ways, and both so 

Mr. Cobfe. 



Illustrated by Lewis Baumer. 

animated and charming, I suddenly realized 
how very lonely I had been without them, 
and what a joy it was to get them back. 

In the confused kissing that followed, with 
an impatient porter loaded with luggage 
mutely urging us to expedition, I became con- 
scious of a very tall, thin young man, whose 
embarrassed smile and arrested manner 
seemed to imply that he belonged to our 

" Mr t Cobb/' said Kitty, introducing us. 

" My uncle, Mr. Williams," added Viola, 
in what seemed to me a kinder tone than her 

I shook hands with Mr. Cobb, who mur 
mured politely that he was delighted to meet 
me, though his eyes all the while were on 
Viola J s face, and any transports my acquaint- 
ance may have occasioned him were some- 
what concealed by the eager conversation 
he continued to carry on with her, I caught 
vaguely that he would be at the Fourth 
Avenue Hotel ; that he would telephone at 
nine ; that he would .secure the opera scats 
as soon as he could get them ; then, raising 
his hat, he suddenly departed in a long-legged 
way after his own porter, who was piling his 
things into a cab. 1 was about to ask who 
he was when Kitty touched me sliarply with 
her elbow, and gave me a warning look to 
avoid the subject of Mr, Cobb l>efore Viola, 

Later, in the taxi, when Viola happened 
to mention his name, I w r as stupid enough to 
repeat my question and get a second dig in 
the nlis that recalled my happy infancy — in 
which the pokes of an elder little sister con- 
tributed so largely to my upbringing* 

" A delightful vouim man we met at the 




hotel in St, Augustine/* said Viola, who. 
fortunately, had not detected her mother's 
signal to me, " Oh, Uncle Hartley, I am just 
crazy about Mr, Cobb, and so's Mumsey. 
Aren't you, Murnsey doodums ? ,J 

" Oh, yes/' exclaimed Mumsey doodums, 
with what I thought a certain evasiveness, and 
an ensuing jump for a fresh topic that hurried 
us past Mr, Cobb and left him abandoned and 
forgotten — conversationally. After an ab- 
sence of four months this was not difficult, 
especially as for these two it was a home- 
coming, with arrears of domestic history to be 
brought up to date — including the re-covering 
of the Sheraton sofa, Mary Anns embroil- 
ment with the janitor, the missing vacuum 
nozzle, the fire next door, and other items of 
palpitating interest. Dinner was awaiting 
u* in the cosy little dining-room of the apart- 
ment, and here there was more kissing and 
enthusiasm and general rapture at being once 
more under their own roof-tree- 

Afterwards, when Viola left us to run up- 
stairs and see her chum. Lsobel Latimer, who 
had been telephoning down repeatedly, and 
whose impatient ringing and ringing I had 
found not a little irritating, I lit a cigar and 
drew up a chair beside that dear sister of 

11 It's mighty good to see you back, Kitty/' 
I said, 

ki Dear old boy I T> she murmured, reaching 
out a plump hand and giving mine a squeeze. 
" It's been a long time, hasn't it ? " 

** Yes ? indeed it has T " I said ? gazing at her 

lt Hartley/' she broke out ? suddenly, " I 
am dreadfully worried/" 

u Worried ? " I repeated, much concerned. 

M It's this Mr. Cobb/' she explained, colour- 
ing faintly. 

" The young man who was with you at the 
station ? " 

*• Yes. ? 

lk Who is he?" 

Kitty sat up, 

** That's what I would give anything to 
know/ 1 she exclaimed, /' He's a man of 
mystery— an enigma,' T 

"My experience with men of mystery/' I 
observed, iL is that they usually end by letting 
you in for their club bills or something equally 
expensive or disagreeable. My advice, as a 
bald-headed brother who has had consider- 
able experience in this vale of tears, would 
be to put a large piece of distance between 
yourself and this enigmatic Mr, Cobb,'' 

" You don't understand/ 1 said Kitty, help- 
lessly. ' Viola is awfully taken with him, 

and it would not surprise me any moment to 
hear that they were engaged." 

tl Engaged ! To a man who has no ante- 
cedents ! Why, Kitty, what are you saying ? " 

" That's why I am so worried. Hartiev, 
it's dreadful ! " 

1 But is she satisfied to know nothing about 
him ? A level-headed, clear-sighted girl like 
Viola to take up with a perfect stranger who 
may be somebody's valet ! " 

" She's in love ; they are all lunatics when 
they are in love ; I was nc better myself at 
her age. 1 ' 

I began to feel worried, too. 

I Tell me all about it," I demanded. 
ct Right from the beginning, Kitty/' 

€i Well, there he was at the hotel, with a 
big yellow motor of his own, and every 
appearance of being a most correct and eligible 
young man — and when Viola made his 
acquaintance at a dance and seemed to take 
to him tremendously, I folded my hands and 
thought, ( Bless you, tny children ! ' Viola 
is twenty- five, and of course it must happen 
sooner or later, mustn't it ? After that 
they went about together all the time, and 
really 1 thought he was a most attractive 
fellow, and perhaps helped the affair along 
more than I ought. At first, quite innocently, 
I asked him a few questions about himself, 
and only realized by degrees how cleverly he 
slipped out of answering them. Then, when 
I pressed Viola about him. she flared up as 
girls do and almost bit my head off. They 
arc all tiger-cats if they think you are trying 
to take away their young man." 

II But surely she understood your natural 
feeling of responsibility ? " I said. 

i4 Girls in love never understand anything/' 
she replied, with conviction. "' They pay 
about as much attention to fathers and 
mothers as a runaway horse does to a shriek- 
ing driver — the more you yell the faster they 

" If I had been you I would have traced 
down the person who introduced him origin- 
ally—who vouched for him in the first place," 

h+ That's precisely what I did ; she was a 
Mrs. Gilbert, who referred me back to her 
husband, who referred me back- -to one of 
the hotel clerks ! Then I looked over the 
register, and found he came from Walton, 

(l Well, that's all right. It will only take 
me at the most two or three days to get on 
his track- — " 

u But listen. Hartley, listen." 

" Yes ? " 

u There isfiftciiltyaltf attiflfii in Massachusetts." 




" Are you sure, Kitty ? " 

*' Sure ? Of course I am sure \ I looked it 
up in two different atlases. There are fifteen 
Waltons, but none of them in Massachu- 
setts ; and it was written quite plain — 

" By George ! TJ I exclaimed. " It does 
look black, doesn't it ? * ? 

M It couldn't be worse, Hartley — it simply 

i£ It was foolish of yon not to have had it 
out with Viola — not to have nipped it in the 
bud the moment you suspected this fellow. 1 ' 

Kitty is a soft, round, helpless little person, 
and she looked softer, rounder, and more 
helpless than ever as I reproached her, 

bl 1 tried to," she quavered, 

iL Yet you allowed this man to come up 
with you on the train ? " 

" I— I couldn't help that/ 1 she whimpered, 
with suffusing eyes. 4 I couldn't stop him 
buying a ticket, could I ? T1 

" You ought to have asserted yourself, 
Any woman — any mother — with the slightest 
sense and knowledge of the world would have 
asserted herself/ 1 

u I — I tried to/* she wailed. 

" Even a chicken will fight for its young/* 
I went on, angrily. L ' Even a worm will fight 
for its worm lets, yet you meekly tolerated 
this scamp, this valet may lie, this possible 
bigamist and scoundrel, and couldn't think 
of doing anything more than wringing your 

" I— I was afraid of Viola," she gasped out, 
through her sobs. 4 * She arts as though she 
were engaged to him, and doesn't allow me 
to open my mouth. It's all very well to talk 
about c-c-chickens, but what could J do? " 

I thought for a while in silence, puffing hard 
at my cigar, 

" He is at the Fourth Avenue Hotel," I 
said at last, 4l I'll drop in on Mr. Cobb 
to-morrow, and then we 11 see what he has 
to say to the man of the family/ 1 

Kitty looked up gratefully. 

^ Oh, what a comfort you are, Hartley ! J> 
she exclaimed, * I was trying to nerve 
myself all the time to send for you. but I just 
couldn't. Yes, that's the best thing — for 
you to see him and take that attitude— the 
man of the family, and all that. I can't help 
thinking he is some dreadful kind of impostor/' 

*' I'll know for sure to-morrow/' 1 said, 
" I'll know to-morrow if I have to stand him 
on his head/ 5 

I judged it wiser not to telephone be fore- 
hand . Forewarning such an ambiguous young 

man might result in his keeping out of my 
way. I got to the hotel a little after midday, 
and made up my mind to remain there until 
I had cornered Mr. Cobb. On going to the 
desk to inquire for the number of his room, 
the clerk stopped me smilingly before I was 
half through, 

u Oh, if it's Mr* Cobb you want/' he said, 
" l he is right over there in that chair/' 

Sure enough, there w x as my man, with his 
long legs stretched out and a neglected 
morning paper jn his lap + Even in his care- 
less attitude he looked a very presentable 
young fellow, and I noticed the excellent cut 
of his clothes, as well as his pleasant, uncon- 
cerned expression. I had a sudden misgiving 
that I might l>e making a fool of myself, and 
rapidly edited the remarks with which 1 had 
intended opening the engagement* After all, 
he had some right to be considered innocent 
until proved guilty, and it seemed better 
policy and infinitely more agreeable to give 
him the benefit of the doubt— at first, at any 
rate. But before going over to him I asked 
to have a glance at the register, and suddenly 
bristled with renewed suspicion as 1 read the 
entry : Montgomery J. Cobb y Walton, Mass, 

I had already confirmed the fact that there 
was no Walton, Mass., and now the sight of 
this palpable falsehood in black and white 
was as stunning as a blow. Mr, Cobb cer- 
tainly needed investigating, 

" I beg your pardon/* I began, as suavely 
as I was able* l£ I am Mr. Hartley Williams — 
Mrs, Tru dell's brother — whom perhaps you 
w ? ill recall meeting last night at the station/ 1 

Mr, Cobb sprang up and .shook hands with 
the most unruffled assurance, Indeed, assur- 
ance was evidently this young man's long 
suit. One might have thought he was 
honestly glad to see me from the way he 
proffered an ad^oir«ng chair and would have 
ordered me a drink. It was only in his eyes 
— those hlue, rather protuberant eyes — that 

I could detect the least hint of discomposure. 
u I am a business man/* I said, Lb and you 

will excuse me if I come to the point without 
any preamble or beating about the bush ? h1 

He nodded amiably. 

M Circumstances demand that I should 
know something about you/' I continued. 

II A frank understanding between us would 
help materially/' 

* l Help what ? " he inquired. 

The subdued impertinence of the remark 
nettled me ? but 1 managed to restrain my 

,+ You have beett paying very pronounced 
attentions Original niece/' 1 said, M As her 




Vol. 1— 0. 

'VIOLA WAS A LEVEL- HKADKI), CLBAK-S!G$^tJj|tf jfllfjtorri 




uncle and guardian — and as much as I dishkr 
this unpleasant task — it is my duty to learn 
something about you/* 

il Miss Trudell is a most charming young 
lady,"' he observed, * l and while it is true I 
admire her ? I scarcely think you are justified 
in calling my attentions pronounced," 

u 1 have it from her mother," I said. 

" Mrs. Trudell is a most charming lady/' 
he went on, with the same exasperating: 
blandness. ^ I would not for anything in the 
world cast the slightest reflection on Mrs. 
Trudell, whom I admire and respect, but in 
holding me up in this fashion she " 

lt Nobody is holding you up/' I interrupted, 
warmly, '* I simply mean that a continued 
acquaintance is impossible unless you inform 
us who you are and where you come from* 
If you are a gentleman you can have no 
possible reason for withholding such informa- 
tion which you ought not to put us in the 
position of insisting upon. 1 ' 

li The word ( insist ' is a very disagreeable 
one," he said, as imperturbably as ever, 
slinking the ash from 1 his cigarette, 

" So is the word ' adventurer, 1 h ' I retorted, 
now quite angry. " A man whose only 
rdd.ess is a non-existent town in Massachu- 
setts has only himself to thank if lie inspires 
a certain suspicion/ 1 

" I am forced to agree with you/' he re- 
marked, with an air of sharing my point of 
view, and looking long and earnestly at his 
brilliantly-polished shoes. " I am forced 
to agree with you ; I admit it frankly." 

" And is this how the matter is going to 
rest ? " I demanded, after a considerable 
pa vise. 

41 It can rest any way it pleases/' he replied, 
awakening from a sort of brown study. " My 
private affairs are my own business, and if 
vou cannot bring vourself to take me on trust 
I am afraid our brief acquaintance will have 
to end. 1 ' 

" All our acquaintance will have to end/' 
I said ; with a marked stress on the first word. 
t; Even my niece, 1 think, will appreciate the 
need of that/" 

I thought his smile wavered for a moment 
as his shoes again engrossed his entire atten- 
tion ; he was plainly uneasier than be would 
have me believe, 

" It's too had/' he remarked, finally, in an 
aggrieved voit;e, " If I could explain I 
would — only the truth is f I can't/' 

" Then you will kindly keep away from my 
family until you can," 1 said. Kt A man can do 
without a toothbrush and he can do without 
socks, but he bis to have antecedents/' 

" Well, Til agree to one thing/' he said, 
recovering his smiling effrontery. " FH agree 
to keep away from you all you like," 

I swallowed the insult in .silence, though 
inwardly I was boiling. Then I rose quiet! v 
and, without raising my voice or departing 
from an ordinary conversational tone, said : 
4 You have told me very little, but I have 
learned all I want to know. You are evidently 
a sharper and a rascal, and if you continue 
this impudent courtship of my niece I shall 
take some very e fleet ual means to squelch 
you, Good day, sir, pood day!" 

U'ith that I turned on my heel and left 
him, with a disconcerting sense of having got 
the worst of it. 

That feeling increased during the next few 
days, when I heard he was a constant caller 
at Kittys apartment, and that Viola and he 
were g«J?ng out together almost every after- 
noon or evening. Protesting to Kittv seemed 
absolutely useless ; she would agree to every- 
thing I said, and tben do nothing ; I would 
put words into her mouth to say to Mr, Cobb, 
and then, when he came, she dared not say 
them. She seemed to think that by treating 
him coldly and occasionally leaving the room 
when he arrived she was doing the utmost 
that lay in a mother's power, I gathered, 
however, that she had had some violent 
passages with Viola in private, with no 
results save sullen ness and resentment. 

When I suggested she should definitely 
close her door against Mr, Cobb she dissolved 
into tears and hud to have smelling-salts 
held to her nose, 

Viola, who knew mighty well what I 
thought about it all, showed a remarkable 
adroitness in eluding me, She was always 
just going out, or having a letter to write, or 
a pressing engagement with Isolde! Latimer 
whenever I tried to pin her down for that 
lecture she was so plainly dreading. One 
day, after a week had gone by in this manner, 
1 lost all patience with her, As she was about 
to flutter away in a whirlwind of animation 
and excuses, I put my hack to the door and 
smilingly held her prisoner. 

l - We have to have a talk about Mr. Cobb/ 1 
I said, *' and we are going to have it now/ 1 

li Oh, but, Uncle Hartley," she pleaded, ik I 
can't, 1 cant ! 1 haven't a moment to spare 
— truly I haven't. I have a dress-fitting at 
Estelle's, and I am already ten minutes late." 

' 4 I am a week late/' I said. " A week 
late trying to see you, and always getting 
put off, For once your engagements will 
have to gChaqra^ltfffahie claims of a wild and 




woolly uncle, I 1 ve got a lot to say, and you' ve 
got a lot to hear." 

Appreciating that I was in earnest, and 
realizing my determination not to let her 
escape, she sat down, but with a flash of her 
eyes and a mutinous tightening of her lips 
that boded ill for my long-deferred inter- 
view, She was a pretty girl in her way, with 
masses of fair hair and a trim, nice figure ; 
I had always credited her with an affectionate 
disposition as well until I ventured to lay 
hands on Mr, Cobb. It is astonishing how 
these yielding, submissive young things can 
suddenly reveal themselves as grown-up and 
determined women whenever their hearts 
are engaged. 

" Let's get it over with/* she said, fidgeting 
in her seat. " As my uncle, you think you 
have a right to roar about Mr, Cobb. Well- 
roar ! " 

" Co me , come, my dear/ 1 I protested, 
14 Try to be polite, even if we don't agree 



about Mr, Cobb. Even an uncle is entitled 
to some of the elementary courtesies." 

11 Oh, I hate to have him insulted," she 
exclaimed, a shade apologetically. " You 
are all against him, and it is so aggravating 
to know what you are going to say before you 
have said it/' 

bt I am not so sure you do," I retorted. u I 
may be middle-aged and commonplace, but 
I'm not quite a parrot. Anyway, my dear, 
when one loves people one is entitled to be a 
little — officious." 

tc Oh, you are not that, Uncle Hartley/' 
she said, relentingly, " I've been horrid and 
rude, and I beg your pardon. But both you 
and Mumsey are so prejudiced against poor 
Mr. Cobb/ 5 

n I am not prejudiced against poor Mr. 
Cobb," I protested. u I like him well enough, 
and I think he is a very presentable young 
man ; but if he insists on being a young man 
of mystery , whose fault is it that we distrust 

him ? Oughtn't you to 
blame him rather than 
me r 

"Perhaps I ought/' 
she admitted. 

il My dear, he con- 
victs himself," I said. 
** And you think Fm 
an awful little fool, 
don't you ? T1 she re- 
marked, with the first 
glimmer of a smile. 

" No/' I answered ; 
Li you are simply young 
—young and trustful, 
as a nice girl aught to 
be* But that is all the 
more reason to listen 
to the watch - dog's 
honest bark." 

" I'm listening/' shr 

*' Bark numlwrone/' 
I continued r ll Tell Mr. 
Cobb you have a horrid, 
disagreeable old uncle 
who makes your life a 
burden to you with 
questions you cannot 
answer. Tell him you 
are at your wits 7 end 
to satisfy this old 
ogre. Then if he is 

straight *' 

"Of course he is 
straight/' she inter- 
held her pRi^Qliflffialrupted, with another 




little flare of resentment. " Mr. Cobb is a 
gentleman through and through, and ,? 

11 And what ? *' I askedj as she hesitated 
and stopped, 

" He has his own reasons — very good 
reasons — for hiding his real name, and 

11 Good heavens ! " I cried out. You 
mean to say he isn't named Cobb at all ? 71 

" No." she replied. ' 4 It is all part of a 
very strange and romantic 
secret. You see, he is 
liable to be arrested at 
any moment ! " 

My look of consterna- 
tion' was more effective 
than all my previous 

41 I promised never to 
teB a soul,'' she hurried 
on, as though apprehend- 
ing some outburst on my 
part, and feverishly eager 
to forestall it* " But, of 
course, that meant Mum- 
sey, who couldn't be ex- 
pected to understand or 
— or make allowances. I 
can't have you think he 
is a criminal, Uncle Hart- 
ley, or anything of that 
sort. He's a gun-runner.'* 

"A what?" I de- 

" That's what they call 
people who run guns across 
the Mexican border to 
the rebels/' she explained, 
sweetly, " It is terribly 
dangerous, but very, very 
profitable, and he was 
making lots of money until finally the Federal 
authorities at El Paso got after him and issued 
a warrant for his arrest. His real name is 
Marion Joyce Carlisle, but he changed it to 
Montgomery J, Cobb for his initials on his 
things — to keep them the same, you know. 
If he. were arrested he would get into the 
most frightful trouble, though he s:iys in a 
year or two it will all blow over. But in the 
meantime, of course, he is in a very false 
position he realizes that keenly." 

il He certainly couldn't be in a worse,' 1 I 
said, as crossly as I felt. 4E But if there is a 
word of truth in this egregious story, win- 
doe sn't he get away to Canada, where he 
would be safe ? " 

Viola coloured faintly. if He would rather 
stay here/' she replied, in some confusion. 
u Nearer to me — ;md all 

"with that partim: shot i Lkft, 



"Ob!" I murmured. "So that's why he 
stays, is it ? ff 

" Yes, that's why he stays/' said Viola, as 
though pleased at last to find something we 
could agree on, 

M But tell me, what was he before he took 

up this highly spectacular, moving-picture 

occupation ? M inquired. '* He can't have 

spent his whole life in gun- running* What was 

lie before he — gun -ran ? ' 

The tinge in Viola's 

cheeks turned to scarlet. 

lt I— I don't know/' she 
replied. " He's always 
lieen rather reticent about 
himself, and n- naturally 

I never liked to p-p- press 
him/ 7 

"Viola/ 1 I exclaimed. 
" you must drop this man 
like a red-hot potato/ 1 

ki I can't/ ' she mur- 
mured ; c< of, rather, I 
meim I won't. I may as 
well confess that we are 

" Engaged I " I cried 
out, aghast. " Engaged 
to a man with an alias, no 
antecedents, and escaping 
from the police ? " 

" Yes/ 1 she returned, 
somewhat tremblingly, 

II and if you bother or 
harass him, or draw Mum- 
sev into any fuss about 
him, I warn you it will W 
a very short engagement. 
Otherwise we intend to 
wait until the hue and 

cry is over — until the rebels become Federals, 
and all danger is past.' 9 

I rose and took my hat and cane, 
" You are twenty-five years old and legally- 
entitled to go to the devil/' I said. l " Only 
if I were you I would make a little surer that 
this gentleman isn't married already. It 
wouldn't he verv pleasant if he were, would 
it ? ?1 

With that parting shot I left, after a peck 
at a very averted cheek. It was a hollow 
formality in the present instance, but I 
observed it dut ; fulh\ It is always well to 
maintain the amenities of life even in moment* 
of extreme tension. 

I doubt if there is a more detestable position 
in the world than being related — closely 
related — tfrigifl'SMflgiiTComan w ^ u * s nuking 




an idiot of herself. One feels so responsible 
and so helpless ; she is too big to spank and 
too unreasonable to argue with ; legally she 
is a woman, and in reality a child. It is no 
pleasure, either, to become the cruel uncle of 
romance ; to realize that one is regarded as 
a horrid old busybody who has no under- 
standing of youth and love. I was very 
much upset ; very much perplexed — exceed- 
ingly chagrined and horrified. It is a terrible 
thing to look on and see a girl's life ruined. 

Of course, if my sister had been a different 
sort of woman I would have regarded all this 
as much more her affair than mine. But 
Kitty is one of those impossible people who 
fly off at a tangent in anything like a crisis, 
and meet it by creating another— with un- 
limited tears, hysterics, and heart failure. 
You have to run from the crisis to take care 
of Kitty, and then from Kitty to take care 
of the crisis, Besides, I felt that the least 
interference with Viola just now would be 
fa till ; one little push, and she would dis- 
appear m the direction of the City Hall, to 
reappear as Mrs, Cobb, Decidedly I had to 
grapple with this ticklish situation alone if 
it were to be grappled with at alb But how ? 
I asked myself that all night. How — and 
again how ? 

The next morning I decided to consult a 
private detective 1 knew named Bloomer. 
We had once employed him to stop a series 
of petty thefts in our warehouse, and he had 
nailed the culprits in thirty-six hours. So, 
after telephoning for an appointment, I w + ent 
along to Bloomer and unfolded my tale of 
■woe in a dingy office overlooking Broadway. 
Bloomer was a grizzled, bovine personage, 
remotely policeman-like and Irish, with 
smouldering eyes and a cowing manner- 
There was no unnecessary suavity about 
Bloomer ; no airs or graces ; he was massively 
manly, and as direct as a falling brick. But 
he listened with bard-breathing patience ; 
took notes in a large, greasy book, and asked 
a numt>er of very searching questions. 

1 The fellow^s a crook/' he said, at last, 
in his booming voice. " The idea is tn get 
the goods on him and run him out — scare 
him out. Hey, is that right? " 

I said it was. Yes, that was it exactly. 

" It can be done slow or fast/' he went on* 
f * Slow's cheap and fast's dear — which is it 
to be? T 

'* I want results/' I said, " and the quicker 
the better. Money is no object if you can 
get results/' 

4t 111 get them/' he declared, with a robust 
assurance that shook the office. ct Rut 

understand, it means a lot of telegraphing, a 
lot of oiling of police ropes, a lot of money 
flung away here, there > and everywhere. 
Detective work is just like fishing, Mr, 
Williams— the bigger your net the surer you 
are of landing your fish, and the cost is in 

Ai Go ahead/ 1 I said. u Show me results, 
and I don't care what I pay. 7T 

A shade of misgiving suddenly appeared 
on those bovine features. 

" Of course, I don't guarantee he's a crook/' 
he remarked. " If he ain't a crook, he ain't, 
and there's no more to lie said. But I take 
it it's his record you're wanting, even if it's 
clean ? ? ' 

14 Precisely," I agreed. 

il Where will you be by five o'clock ? ' 7 he 
asked, reaching for some telegraph forms. 
" I think I ought to be able to report some- 
thing by five." 

u At my club/' I returned, giving him the 
telephone number. "I shall make a point 
of being there from four-thirty on." 

He had already noted my hotel and busi- 
ness address, and now verified them again 
with an air of concluding the interview. I 
Jiked him all the better for this directness, 
and hastened to take my departure. He 
escorted me to the door, massively and cere- 
moniously, and a party of chattering girls, 
descending from a theatrical agency above, 
were very much impressed by the sight. We 
passed out into the street together, and here 
I stopped and looked up at the dusty windows 
wherewithin the web was being stretched for 
Cobb. I glowed with satisfaction ; I felt 
that the wires were already humming \ best 
of all, it was my affair no longer, but Bloomer's, 

He rang me up a little after five. 

w I've got some queer news for you/' he 
said. +i There ain't any such party known 
at El Paso, nor is there any warrant out for 

" No ? " I exclaimed. 

" Whatever our party is running away 
from, it certainly ain't from a Federal warrant/' 
he continued. " There ain't a warrant. 
Federal, State, or local, out for anybody — for 
smuggling arms, d'ye understand ? Hey, 
have you got that ? " 

I replied that I had. 

** It looks like a blind/' went on Bloomer, 
in his vibrating voice- " Nearly all crooks 
have blinds to throw off the police, Mean- 
time, of course, I have been trying to place 
the Walton our party mentioned — the town 
he gave on the hotel register, both here and 



down South. Well, and what do voa 
tlvnk ? " 

I murmured my inability to do anything 
of the kind, 

II I have covered them all, and there ain't 
one where our party is known/' resumed 
Bloomer. 1( Our party, tit her as Cobb or 
Carlisle , or Marion, Montgomery, or Joyce, 
avn*t to be found or recognized in any of them," 

lt Perhaps my description of him wasn't 
e;ood enough, -1 I said, suddenly troubled that 
the fault might be mine* i( I am afraid it 
would have been better if you had seen him 

Bloomer burst out laughing. 

" I guess we know pretty well what he 
looks like after shadowing him all day, M he 
exclaimed. " Why, you weren't gone ten 
minutes before I had him under observation, 
with one of my best men reporting progress 
every hour. And here's another mighty queer 
thing, Mr. Williams/* 


£ It ain't guns he's interested in— it's 

M Furs ? }t 

1 Yes, sir, furs 1 We trailed him to EfTerts 
and Co., furriers ; to W, H, Hall and Co., 
furriers ; to Pap'llon Fr£res T furriers. At the 
last place he stayed a long time, and then 
took one of the salesmen out to lunch and 
spent n:ne dolbrs and forty-five cents on him 
at Martanne s. Afterwards he strolled ulong 
Fifth Avenue and across Thirty- fourth Street 
to the dep.LLtment stores, stopping at every 
window where there were furs, 7 ' 

I expressed my astonishment, though not 
as emphatically, perhaps, as Bloomer seemed 
to desire, It was stealing over me that nil 
this, however interesting led us nowhere, 
and might be one of the tricks of a notoriously 
tricky profession. That afternoon my partner 
had frankly warned me against employing 
detectives ; their whole scheme, he said, was 
to lead you on and on, justifying heavy ex- 
penses by long reports of what had never 
taken place. I was impelled to hint this to 

" But this is all negative/' I so id. " We 
are still us much in the dark as ever, arent 
we ? tP 

Bloomer laughed confidently. 
Listen!" he boomed 1 with a jubilant note 
in his voice that dispelled my latent suspicion, 
" I was wondering about these here furs, and 
seeing no daylight anywhere, when, kerplunk, 
I got another line on our party that put 
him right under the searchlight. I can't be 
absolutely positive till CM^^j^sjira* up 

in twenty minutes, but it's dollars to dough- 
nuts, Mr* Williams t that weVe landed our 
man. He*s Harold Spindler, twenty-eight, 
married, formerly assistant cashier of the 
Grangers' and Drovers' Bank, now ? a fugitive 
from justice, and wanted for forgery and 
embezzlement. There is a thousand dollars 
reward for his apprehension, and as soon as 
we get in touch with the officers, who think 
they have tracked him to Duluth, they'll be 
sent on here to arrest and extradite him. ?? 

This was thrilling. I had a sudden 
strangling feeling in my throat. We always 
think of crime as something inconceivably 
remote from our commonplace, everyday life, 
and when it brushes against us ; concretely 
and individually, we are stunned. 

" There's Chicago calling now on my other 
wire," exclaimed Bloomer, suddenly, * f Hey, 
hang up a moment — 1*11 ring you up again as 
soon as they are done/' 

A few minutes later, as I waited nervously 
beside the switchboard operator, I was called 
again into the booth. It was Bloomer, re- 
sounding and triumphant, 

; * He's our party all right," he announced, 
11 He's Harold Spindler for sure, and the 
officers will be here to-morrow with the 
warrant, requisition papers, and finger- 
prints ! Good work, hey? No time wasted, 
hey ? Cobb's a smart boy, but I guess he's 
cornered this time, Mr. Williams." 

I had hardly breath enough to ask him to 
keep the affair out of the newspapers, 

<h Sure, it will l)e kept out of the papers," 
said Bloomer, " The young lady's name 
has to be protected ; I know that/* 

il Where is he now ? * J I asked. u Where's 
Cobb now ? " 

l * Up at your sister's apartment/* said 
Bloomer, answering my question with a 
certain uneasiness. " But don't you disturb 
him, Mr, Williams ; keep away from him, 
please ; he'll run at the fall of a hat, and then 
wlie re would we be ? b) 

f murmured non-committal! y that I would 
be very careful- It was beginning to dawn on 
me that Bloomer and I were at cross purposes 
as to Cobb's final fate. I had no wish what- 
ever to have the fellow arrested, since his 
name could only too easily be linked with 
Viola's in an odious publicity, I wished for 
nothing better, in Fact, than his complete 
disappearance and obliteration. But Bloomer 
was so much a policeman himself that I felt 
he would be acutely put out to fail his brother 
officers from Chicago. Besides, there was 
that thousand dollars reward, in which, no 
doubt, mC'rtairi^l friwrtd expected to share. 




My increasing perception of all this caused 
me to temporize. 

After a word or two of sincere appreciation 
for his services, now so splendidly concluded, 
I said good night and left the booth. Once 
outside j I hurriedly called up a taxi and gave 
the chauffeur Kitty's address, Cobb's knell 
had sounded ; his vile masquerade was near- 
ing its end ; vengeance, in a very stuffy red 
box, was swiftly moving in his direction to 
overtake and crush him. 

The maid wanted to help me off with my 
overcoat } but 1 pushed her aside and strode 
into the sitting-room just as I was. 

The first person I saw was Cobb himself, 
seated beside Viola on the sofa, very lover- 
like and close, A little farther off was Kitty 
in a rocking-chair, with some embroidery and 
several brightly- coloured balls of silk in her 
lap. At my startling entry they all looked 
up, and there was an electrifying instant as 
we stared at one another without a word being 

1 advanced on Cobb with my finger out- 

Li I know who you are ! " I thundered. 
" I've had detectives on your trail and we've 
run down your infamous secret. Get out of 
here, you cur — get out ! " 

One might have thought the two women 
turned to stone ; I doubt if they even breathed. 
As for Cobb, he flushed as red as fire, and his 
face was a picture of rage and mortification, 
I expected him to slink away in silence, but 
instead he had the effrontery to remain where 
he was, staring back at me furiously. 

" You ought to have your nose pulled for 
making a scene before ladies," he exclaimed, 
with incredible impudence. <N As for my secret, 
I was just nerving myself to tell it when you 
burst in like a cyclone-" 

" I'll tell it for you/ 1 I cried, incensed 
beyond measure. " FU tell them what you 
are in plain English." 

M Go ahead/ 1 he retorted, cringing a little in 
spite of his bold words. And then he added, 
with a nervous giggle : 4< Go ahead — a man 
can only die once/' 

" Viola/' I said, in an intonation that would 
have cut ham. " let me present Mr. Harold 
Spindler, of Chicago, a young married man. 
who is wanted hy the police for forgery and 
emliezzlement I ? * 

One might have expected the women to 
scream or something, but they remained as 
stricken as before — as motionless and silent 
as two statues. It was Cobb who made all 
the noise. 

Digitized by \jOOSIC 

H That's a lie ! " he shouted, springing to 
his feet. " That's an outrageous, wicked lie I 
I'm not married, and I'm not Harold Spindler, 
and I never stole a cent In my life 3 ' 

*' Oh, what's the use of all this stage- 
play ? " I said j quietly. " Von know you 
are cornered, Cobb ; you know the game's 
up ; the officers will be here to-morrow with 
the warrant and extradition papers." 

He uttered a sort of groan, and sank down 
on the sofa again. 

"X am not Harold What-d'ye-eall-uni/' he 
protested. " I T m not — I'm not ! " 

" Then kindly condescend to inform us 
who you are/' I said, with all the sarcasm at 
my command. 

* ( Uncle Hartley, you know yourself his 
real name is Carlisle/ ' Viola burst out at me, 
in panting resentment* " He was mixed up 
in the Mexican rebellion — with running guns 
across the border, and you are horribly unjust 
and unkind to " 

" Every word of that is a lie," I interrupted, 
" Lie on He> and lie on top of that; 1 

With flashing eyes Viola turned to Cobb for 
his denial, but all he did was to quail and hang 
his head. 

" It wasn't true/' he admitted at last, still 
unable to meet her championing glance. bt I 
am not named Carlisle, and I never saw a 
Mexican in my life." 

I felt sorry for Viola, She reeled as though 
she had been struck in the face* 

" I — I believed in you, Monty/' she 
quavered ; " b-b-but now I don't know what 
to think." 

" He's Harold Spindler ! " I cried, " I know 
he is Harold Spindler | v 

*' Call me that again and I'll choke you ! " 
he snapped at me, as though goaded beyond 
endurance, " I am not Harold Spindler, 
and to-morrow your officers will look like a 
pack of fools. The real trouble with me is— 
my business ; no nice girl could stoop to marry 
a man of — my business. That's what drove 
me to all these wretched falsehoods, knowing 
that the truth would cost me the girl I love/' 

H The truth never could do that/' ex- 
claimed Viola, passionately, " It's lies that 
kill love. If you have a spark of manhood 
in you, tell me your real name/' 

" It's Montgomery Joyce Cobb/' he replied, 
almost sulkily. il But it's not my name that 
matters, it is — my business, I had to hide 
that ; I was forced to hide it. I kept saying 
to myself, ( Win her first and then tell her 
afterwards/ Every day that I've been here 
I've tried to bring myself to tell you, but I 
couldn% Viola—- 1 jusit couldn't/' 




"If it is honest I don't mind what it is T ' T 
she said, with a suddenly reviving confidence. 
4L I wouldn't care what my husband did as 
long as he was upright and honourable/ 1 

" You think so now." he said, wearily ; 
" but " 

"I'll always think so/ 1 she interrupted. 

But Cohb' still 

( *1 won't tie 
you to that," he 
murmured. *' It 
w o u 1 d not lie 
manly or right to 
hold you to that. 
Tell me to go — 
and Til go without 
a word." 

11 Your business 
is robbing banks/' 
1 put in. 

u For shame, 
Uncle Hartley ! T 
exclaimed Viola. 
14 Poor Mr, Cobb 
is going to tell us 
everything, and 
then you will feel 
like going down 
nn your bended 
knees. His fault 
is simply being 
over-sensitive end 
over- honourable.'* 

11 It I were a 
starving d r t o r 
nobody would 
ever point a finger 
at me," Cobb said, 
in a tone of grate- 
ful agreement 
with Viola, to 
whom he turned as 
though Kitty and 
I had ceased i i 
exist, " If I were 
a shabby, baggy- 
kneed lawyer or a third-class schoolmaster 
out of a job, I would have a sort of social 
posit ion , if I had nothing else. But because 
I struck out for myself in a fresh field — made 
a go of a thing that has always been thought 
impossible— I am exposed to the cruellest 
jeers and insults. I have to hide my business 
as though it were a crime ; I daren't mention 
or allude to it ; though I am a college 
graduate and make twenty thousand dollars a 
year j people sniff at me and shut tlieir doors 
In my face. 1 ' 

iized by Google 

" For Heavens sake, what is your busi 
ness ? " Viola cried. 

Robbing banks/ 

I interjected. 
This is w + hat I have earned by my superior 
initiative and enterprise/' continued Cobb, 
despairingly, " That is my reward for blazing 
a new trail ; that's the life I have to offer the 


woman who becomes my wife. Viola, I ask 
you again, can you stoop to marry an— out- 
cast ? fl 

1 think Viola 1 s pause was more due to 
dramatic effect than to any real hesitation* 
It certainly gave a sujierb value to her avowal 
when it came. 

*' Yes — if I loved him," she said. 

Instead of brightening at this, Cobb seemed 
only to grow more woebegone* One could 
see that he was struggling with that impend- 
ing revelation ; the unsaid words were seeking 




utterance ; suddenly — gaspingly — they were 

11 I raise skunks," he said, 

** Skunks ? ' I exclaimed. 

14 Skunks ? " cried Viola. 

" Skunks ? " bleated Kitty. 
* Yes, skunks," repealed Cobh t almost 
defiantly, "lam the only successful skunk- 
raiser on the American continent ; my skunk 
farm in Sullivan County is the only place 


where skunks were ever raised on a large 
scale in captivity. I am — why should I not 
claim my unfortunate distinction ? -I am 
the Skunk King ! " 

For a moment we remained spell- bound, 
and then, with one common, irresistible im- 
pulse, we begun to laugh as I believe no three 
people ever laughed before. The relief, the 
reaction, the awful feeling that we shouldn't 

-only added to our convulsions of mirth. 
Viola was the worst of us all ; she simply 
could not control herself ; she laughed till the 

tears came. Meanwhile Cobb sat there 
scowling, and so injured-looking and humili- 
ated that the sight of him impelled lis to 
fresh outbursts. We knew we were com- 
mitting an enormity, and the more we knew 
it the more we laughed, 

" Vou were right not to tell me l>cfore/* 
said Viola at last, breathlessly struggling to 
console the dejected young man. *" At the 
beginning 1 don't think 1 ould have stood it, 
Monty. Girls are so silly and high-flown, 
and, » 

4i But now ? " he pleaded, interrupting her 
with an intensity in his voice that made me 
feel for him. ll Poes this let me out, Viola ? " 

44 You darling boy, of course it doesn't ! " 
she exclaimed, '* 1 was only laughing because 
I was so pleased it w isn't worse. Why, we'll 
go off and raise skunks together, and live 
happily ever afterwards," 

Cobb beamed, 

*' They are the nicest, cleanest, friendliest 
little ( Teat u res in the world," he said, enthusi- 
astically. Then, looking at me rather signifi- 
cantly, he added : " In fact, the more I see 
of people, the letter I like skunks," 

Before I realized what he was doing, he 
wis suddenly emptying all his pockets of 
letters, bills, memoranda, and what not, and 
accumulating a thick little packet, which I 
was astonished to have passed to me, 

' I am no Dr. Cook in this skunk business/' 
he declared. " Read these, and satisfy your- 
self that 1 am all right. It is my last five days' 
correspondence, and there isn't a letter that 
isn't full of skunk." 

" Oh, I am quite reassured about you/' I 
said, accepting them with some demur. li It is 
plain as a pikestaff that you aren't Harold 
Spindler, and these proofs are superfluous," 

" Uncle I fart ley was only trying to protect 
me, Monty/* said Viola, softly, aside to him. 
" You must not bear him any ill-will. Shake 
hands with him, like a dear fellow, and let 
bygones be bygones/' 

We did so cordially, It was fine of him 
after all the things I had said, and my heart 
went out to him. Then I kissed Viola and 
Cobb kissed Kitty, and then I kissed Kitty 
and Cobb kissed Viola ; and we all glowed 
and felt very red and self-conscious, as an 
American family always does when emotion 
has betrayed It out of its usual reserve. 

We owfcd it to Kitty that the ensuing 
constraint was broken. 

" 1*11 have to change all my ideas about 
skunks," she remarked, naively. '* \\VI1, 
well, to think ( ^ft-|ffl-§| ff#$fi to marry into 



Some New Discoveries 
in Natural History. 


Author of " Insect Biographies ivitk Pen and Camera" ** JJfc Histories of Familiar Plants™ etc* 
Illustrated with Original Photographs by the Author. 

IV.— Tne Duel of tke Male Sticklebacks. 

a camera almost invariably learns more 
of the habits and peculiar characteristics 
of the creatures than the mere observer 

The three-spined stickleback Is the famous 
u tiddler ?J of the young disciples of Izaak 
Walton who go forth to attack their quarry 
with a sticky a piece of cotton , a worm, and 

a strung - up ]am jar. 

HERE is perhaps no more 

interesting creature in the 

pond than the threes pined 

stickleback, Many stories of 

its doings below water have 

been told, some accurate and 

many inaccurate, but never 
before, I think, has a photographic record of 
the fighting propensities of the gaudily- 
dressed male 
fishes been put 
before the public. 
It is largely for 
this reason that 
I have introduced 
this subject under 
the general hem I 
ing of these 
Nature glimpses. 
The photograph 
introduce t li c 
subject in a new 
light, and win 
1 have record' 
of their doings, 
while, perhaps. I 
may not claim it 
wholly us a new 
discovery, yet I 
may have added 
some interest in g 
details not 
generally known : 
for it is a fact that 
the naturalist 
who lays himself 
out to record the 

doin^S of wild ^*" 1H " ^'"^ n 'he ^a *■ * male tlitliMjaek nu&rdina \\& neU hidden antucmat 
the weedt* Below i« I he ludy ttictlrbac.t tabs in* -ted la ihft ae*r, Ort 
the riflht a rival mile hai appeal^ 


life by means of 

The red - breasted 
* l robins '' of their 
captures are the 

Now the real 
excitement i n 
stickleback life 
commences in the 
spawning season, 
Then there are 
pugnacious males 
in glowing colours 
who appear tu 
have no nest of 
their own, and 
who are ever 
ready for a bat tit 
with another 
male that does 
possess one ; for 
it is the mules 
who build and 
take charge of 
the nests. Also 
there are bunds 
of marauding 
females that arc 
always looking 
for an oppor- 
tunity to attack 
an undefended 



Fig. 2.— Lite a flnih of lighl the owner of l be 
bcrt ckat^i hit appfoachinii rival, a liar king him 
beneath with hia sharp back-ftpine* and hurling hir* 
well above the n«n The tail poftjera ol I he 
owner ii *eeo on the left turning after ihe chaise 
Below, the UJy nticltlrbacL i* -jcitedlv dairunf 
round the neit, and. consequently, lonk* shadowy 
in ihc phptograrh- 

nest and pull it to pieces and 
devour the eggs or young fry 
which it contains, in which work 
the wandering males will some- 
times join them. Probably it is 
this cannibalistic trait which ac- 
counts for these numerous raiding 
sticklebacks, for when a nest is 
broken down the owner for the 
time being joins the raiders. Later 
on he may select a new site and 
settle down to family-rearing again, 
but for some time before doing so 
he is well occupied in warning off 
inquisitive visitors that come to 
inquire into his business. 

After he has shown his prowess 
in defending his selected site from 
attack, and become recognized as 
a danger in the neighbourhood, he 
is only occasionally disturbed, and 
on such occasions he becomes ex- 
tremely ferocious, especially as his 
nest nears completion ; for it is 
then that the marauding visitors 

Digitized by VjO< 

become more troublesome — prob- 
ably in anticipation of eggs. 

The nest itself is usually well 
hidden amongst the weeds, and is 
composed of particles of water- 
plants which he cements together by 
means of a secretion, and hammers 
into shape by means of his head. 
When it is completed he becomes 
not only more courageous than 
ever j but also more gaudily dressed. 
His crimson hues glow like brilliant 
fire as he continually exposes them 
to the sunlight while guarding his 
home. He has now to woo a lady 
stickleback, and there is little doubt 
that he feels himself a fine fellow in 
his uniform of silver, blue, and 

Presently he becomes very ex- 
cited. It is obvious that he has 
detected something coming into 
bis domains. Yes, it is a solitary 
lady stickleback who has coyly 
approached ! Round the nest he 
dashes at top speed. His delight 
is apparent. That he is most 

Fia. 3.— The owner of the neil wai instantly hack on euard again afirr the 

charge, whita the lady ttickleback came to rest beneath the nest as it defiahlrd 

with the victory of iti owner. Tbe mj m: i- if moo above drifting away- 


7 6 


anxious that his wonderful nest should not be 
overlooked by his visitor is equally apparent, 
far he plunges into it and backs out of it again 
with marvellous rapidity. The lady stickle- 
back, however, only stands by with fins waving 
while she watches his movements. 

Then he tries the effect of his wonderful 
colours upon her, swimming round her time 
after time as if to fascinate her with his 
gorgeous hues as they reflect the light. 

Still she remains resting on waving fins. 
Slowly he comes to rest in front of her^ his 
jewel-like eyes fixed upon her. Then, after 
a pause, he darts forward and bunts the 
side of her body 
with his nose, 
immediately re- 
turning to his 
nest (Fig. i). 
Still she remains 

Suddenly how- 
ever, she darts 
aside* In a n 
instant the owner 
of the nest is 
alert, and not a 
moment too soon, 
A raiding male 
was making a 
plunge for the 
unprotected nest. 
Like a flash of 
light the owner 
of the nest met 
his charge, strik- 
ing with his erect 
dorsal spines full 
beneath the soft 
part of his rival's 
body. How he 
turned his body 
and got in his 
thrust in time 
was simply mar- 
vellous. There 
was for the moment a confused flushing of 
silver, blue, and crimson, and an instant 
later the rival male was- seen drifting in a help- 
less manner to one side of the nest, wounded 
and crestfallen, while the excited owner was 
furiously dashing round his nest, and immedi- 
ately beneath him was the lady stickleback 
even more excited than he was (Fig. 2), 

Almost instantly was he on guard again at 
the entrance to the nest, his colours more 
brilliant than ever with the glow of victory, 
while the lady stickleback slowly came to 
rest almost immediately bejieath (Fig. 3). 

Digitized b/C-QOglV 

Fit 4, — The victor then made a dash round Kit netting lite far n final ihfwt 

at hi a retreating rival. Here he u ieen on the opposite side of hit ocse 

leaving hit rival on the tight. 

Meanwhile the wounded rival was drifting 
quietly away with colours paled considerably. 

As if not quite satisfied that his rival was 
well beaten, the victor then left his post for 
a hurried dash in search of him, and in Fig. 4 
he is seen on the opposite side of the nest re- 
turning from a last thrust at his retreating foe. 
Before he returned the lady stickleback had 
darted into his nest, and when he arrived it was 
to discover that she was placing eggs therein. 
The brave fellow had wooed, fought, and won 1 
For many days afterwards that stickleback 
wooed other ladies of his species and in- 
duced them to assist in stocking his nest with 

eggs until it was 
full. Then he still 
more vigilantly 
guarded the en- 
trance, continu- 
ally sending 
through the nest 
(which is open at 
both ends) a flow 
of fresh water by 
means of the 
movements of his 
pectoral fins* 
Later, when the 
young fry ap- 
peared, he gave 
diligent attention 
to them, never 
failing to catch 
t li e m in his 
mouth and rush 
them back to the 
nesting area when 
raiders and ma- 
rauders were 
approaching. His 
greatest enemies 
during the egg 
and young, fry 
stages arej 
strange to relate, 
the females of 
his own species, with whom he is in 
continual combat. Perhaps that is the 
explanation of why the male stickleback 
takes charge of the nest and young* The 
females may have developed the pernicious 
habit (common in many animals) of destroying; 
their own offspring, while the males may have 
acquired protective characteristics and saved 
the race from destruction. How efficiently 
they perform their duties in this field is 
obvious enough by the huge families which 
are reared— in spite of the annular depletion 
by u tiddler sport ^fPffbrn 


N the 


jr^j IN the inner 

ti% office a single 

electric -light 

bulb hung 

over the desk 

which the manager 


I flus tret t ^d by 


was putting an end to 
the dav's business. As the firm's foreign cor- 
respondent entered he looked up impatiently, 
his face broad and intent under the light. 

14 Well ? " he demanded. 

The tall, elderly clerk, his hat in his hand, 
made his request briefly, presenting it, it 
seemed, like one asking a mere courtesy, with 
no urgency of manner or tone* The manager 
kept his hard eyes on him till he had finished ; 
then shook his head. 

** Sorry," he said, reaching for the ink-well 
with his pen ; " sorry, .Mr. Palmer ; cant 
do it. Tisn't customary to let clerks draw 
salary in advance ; in fact, there's a rule 
against it. We lost by it once," 

• The Count Pal mar ia made him a little 
bow. " I did not know there was a rule/ 1 he 

The manager had returned to his work, and 
did not look up again, " You know now, 
anyhow/' he replied, shortly. " Good night/' 

" Good night/ ' returned the foreign corre- 
spondent, politely, and withdrew. 

He was not greatly disappointed, for the 
habit oF years had saved him from building 
on hopes. But his need of money was not 
the less for that ; it made a problem that 
dwelt continually in his thoughts and deepened 
a little his customary gravity. It was the 
only expression he gave to the trouble that 
preoccu pied him; for the rest, hi; Hue:. 

ivory-hued face, clean- 
shaven and aquiline, 
preserved its manner of 
cuurtesy and distinction. 
He passed on his home- 
ward way through the 
thronged evening streets 
of the City, as though he stood aloof, above, 
and apart from their hurrying vivacity, he 
alone composed and deliberate in the currents 
of the pavement. It was all that remained to 
him from the days of his greatness, that little 
air that separated him from those among 
whom he worked and gained his wage. 

The hour that returned him from the City 
to Mortlake was generally an hour of refresh- 
ment with the Count. The grubby suburban 
street had the appeal of familiarity for him, 
and here and there were faces that he knew. 
lint on this evening the money trouble con- 
tinued with him ; lie failed to see the police- 
man who saluted him or the nod of the grocer 
at his door. His way took him to that range 
of forlorn houses by the river, houses of pre- 
tensions, some of them, spacious and splendid, 
shut in by mean streets. 

It was <one of these that the Count entered, 
letting himself in with a latch-key. The 
door opened into a great, bare hall, with stone 
flags underfoot, where the echo of his foot- 
steps ran before him. The sound of his 
entrance roused somebody up the stairs ; a 
voice called to him over the winding banisters. 
" Is that you, Palmaria ? " it inquired. 
li It is I/' answered the Count. " I am 
coming up/' 
He laid a^i<^j h^ hat aod went upstairs, 

p.,**,.,. ^K#*iiR' The "" 

7 8 


of the staircase rose clear to the roof of the 
house, where a dome of dull glass crowned 
it ; through it the light filtered scantily, 
hardly disturbing the ancient shadows of the 
place, and softening its bareness and shabbi- 
ness. Everything was spacious and fine in 
its proportions ; even the stillness on which 
his steps intruded was like a studied effect 
of stateliness and solemnity, A door 'stood 
ajar on a landing, and the Count tapped at it 
with his knuckles, 

41 Come in/' called the inmate. 

A stout man in shirt and trousers nodded 
to him as he entered, smiling at him under a 
bristling white moustache, 

u No luck, I suppose ? 1J inquired the stout 
man. His voice seemed to rumble in his 
chest as he spoke. " Sit on the bed while I 
shave, and tell me about it." 

The Count sat down on the iron bedstead, 
which was the chief article of furniture in the 

" No luck at all," he answered, with a tone 
of weariness in his voice, " I asked to be 
allowed to receive some of rtiy salary in ad- 
vance. But there was a rule against it. And 
you. Colonel ? " 

The Colonel was stropping his razor. He 
paused to laugh shortly. "I got a sove- 
reign/' he answered. ' The head master 
made me a speech about it, * 1 cannot con- 
sider an advance, sergeant/ he said ; l but I 
will lend you a pound and will withhold your 
fee until it is repaid. 1 I saluted and got the 

The Count shook his head thoughtfully, 
leaning forward with his hands between his 

'* One would have courage, if one dared/' 
he said, w r ith a sigh, " It is curious, too. 
Here are five of us, five men of u kind that 
cannot be common, even in this strange 
country- nun of birth and culture, with a 
great and sacred duty to spur our powers. 
And yet we cannot raise a hundred pounds 
between us, even in our necessity/' 

The Colonel's broad back was towards him. 

" There is a week yet," lie said, without 

The Count sighed, <( Yes." he agreed, 
" There is a week yet, One must have hope/ 1 
He paused. M You have seen her to-day ? n 
he asked, presently 

t( Who ? The " Princess ? '' asked the 
Colonel, mumbling through a beard of lather, 
" Yes ; she sent for me when 1 came in — her 
window was stuck — w T ouldn 7 t shut. The 
doctor says she's no better/' 

" No better, eh ? " repeated the Count. 


" No/' The Colonel frowned. " And we Ye 
to be very careful ; anything might do great 
harm, he says," 

" I see," The Count pondered, " Well/ 1 
he said, " we've a week before us ; we must 
get money in that time, somehow. She'd 
never live through it if bailiffs came lit, 
Sometimes I almost wish she had died last 

" Eh ? " The Colonel stared at him, 
" Oh , no, you don't I " be said, *' You never 
wish that , Palmaria. I know better." 

" Do you ? JJ The Count smiled and rose. 
" Well, perhaps you re right/' he said. " I 
must go and dress now." 

In his own room, while he changed for the 
evening, his face relaxed a little ; it always 
stimulated him to see the cool, unwavering 
courage of Colonel Saras in. The old soldier, 
working for a wage as teacher of drill and 
gymnastics in suburban high schools, and 
answering to the title of sergeant, faced the 
problems and complexities of life with a 
matter-of-fact address that went far towards 
unravelling them, ** There is a week yet/' 
he had said^ and in his mouth the words 
carried a suggestion of scope for effort, of 
resources yet to be tried, of hope in the ulti- 
mate decency of the world's arrangements. 
In the old days, when his favour had been 
high and his name potent, no one had thought 
of describing him as an optimist ; but he had 
carried with him into the exile whither he 
followed his Princess a cheerful courage that 
nothing could impair. Besides the Colonel 
and the Count, there were three men and two 
ladies who shared that house with the old 
forgotten Princess — all that were left faithful 
in that day when an empire overflowed its 
banks in South -Eastern Europe and sucked 
down a little thriving monarchy. 

The Count changed quickly, hurrying into 
evening dress lie fore his narrow mirror. 
He hung an Order at his collar and pinned 
another to his breast ; then, with a last glance 
to see that all was right, he went to pay his 
formal visit to the Princess, He knocked 
cautiously at a w r ide door, and a smiting lady 
peeped out at him. A moment later it was 
opened wide and he was bidden to enter, 

l+ His Excellency the Count Palmaria/' 
announced the lady. 

It was a large room, less bare than any of 
the others, for crimson curtains screened its 
broad windows and a red carpet covered the 
floor. The lamps had not yet been lit, so 
that the old woman who lay back in her arm- 
chair in a far corner was only visible as a pale 
bundle against the dari paper on the walls* 






(^r\^t>l Original from 




The {'(Hint walked across and bowed before 
her. She stirred in her chair and sighed, 

li lie seated ? Count/' she said, in a voice 
that was little more than a whisper. 

The Count brought forward a chair and 
placed himself before her. The lady who 
had admitted him lit a candle and plated it 
on a table at the Princess's elbow, and then 
took up her station behind the Princess's 
chair. She was tall, with a face that fell 
naturally to the shape of a smile ; she seemed 
to preserve without effort the grace and 
fragrance of a late youth. It was not hard 
to trace in her features her pleasant likeness 
to her brother the Count 

The old Princess sighed and blinked at the 
sudden light of the candle. 

" You — you have no news for me ? " she 
asked, absently, still in that failing voice 
that rustled uncertainly from her lips. 

' l There is no news, madam,"' the Count 
answered, formally. It was a daily ritual. 
The news for which she asked was tidings of 
a Court and a people which had ceased to be, 
of a world from which she was sedulouslv 
held immune. That same stress which had 
bereaved her of her husband and her country 
had eased her of her sorrows ; for the Princess 
time had stood still. 

She acknowledged the Count's answer with 
a trembling motion of the head, and put out 
an uncertain hand over the arm of her chain 
The Countess Leda took it in both of hers 
and held it + She was very old and infirm, a 
mere packet of ailments and defects— that, 
and a Princess, By virtue of the loyalty of 
seven of her people, she was still a Princess, 
The Count, decorously silent till she should 
speak, saw her now in the light of the candle 
with eyes that were true to his memories ; 
for him the drooping, pitiful, witless old face 
still carried traces of the grave lady, serene 
and Royal, who had commanded his early 
allegiance. In her presence he never remem- 
bered that he was foreign correspondent to 
the firm of Messrs. Phi lister Brothers, turning 
his familiarity with languages to money, to 
help, as the others helped, to keep his Princess 
safe and untroubled. 

* ( It has been very interesting to hear you. 
Count," she said, wearily, as though be had 
been speaking for a long time. " Very in- 
teresting, Count* But—but I will not keep 
you longer/* 

She put forward her right band. Rising, 
he took it on his and bent to kiss it. 

lt 1 am your Ilighness's most grateful 
servant/' he said, in bis still voire of ceremony. 
For the Count was one of tho e men who 

express themselves most sincerely in fere- 

It suited the arrangements of that house- 
hold that its meals should Lie taken in the 
kitchen. It was a big room on the ground 
floor ; its windows looked out on the slew 
river and its slopes of mud. Only the 
Countess Leda was absent ; it was her part 
to keep the old Princess company in the room 
upstairs till it was time to put her to bed, 
The others were already assembled when the 
Count entered, and the table w T as spread* He 
bowed from the threshold to little Mme. Rieu, 
and the others lie acknowledged collectively. 
They returned his bow with the due form, 

" Come, then," said Mme. Rieu, when this 
was done. " Who will give me his arm all 
the way across the room ? " 

£' It is my turn," said Colonel Sarasin. He 
squired her to the table. She was a little, 
lively person, with the face of a clever child 
set in a halo of white hair — once the Prin- 
cess's secretary ; now a most efficient steno- 
grapher to a novelist at Richmond. The 
Colonel took his place at her right hand ; the 
chair on her other side was occupied by 
Baron Casimir, another foreign correspondent. 
Baron Saronoff was at his side, and opposite 
him sat Caspar Rodolfe, with his bald head 
and keen, wise ? humorous face. He was an 
artist, a man of an unguessed and unrevealed 
talent, who worked steadily, and sometimes 
at very remunerative prices, designing wall- 
papers and linoleums. Count Palmaria made 
up the list of them, with the Countess Leda's 
empty chair at his elbow. Mme, Rieu 
chatted vivaciously with Gaspar Rodolfe, 
while the others listened, and in due time, 
her duty for the day finished, they were 
joined by the Countess Leda, 

She looked round at them with a pleasant 
eagerness as she took her seat, 

11 Has anything been decided ? ?> she asked. 

" We base not talked of anything/' Rudolf e 
answered her. *' We waited for you," 

She nodded to him, smiling. £1 That was 
kind/' she said. Everything was conceded 
to Leda, because she never asserted a claim, 

4L There wasn't anything to decide/' put 
in Colonel Sarasin, in a bass rumble. " We've 
still got no money, and we've still to get it. 
That s nil there is to say/' 

" How much do we owe ? ,? asked Mme. Rieu. 

Gaspar Rodolfe pushed his cup sway. 

11 The total is eighty-six pounds/' ho 
answered, " But seventy pounds is the 
amount which troubles us now, That is our 
debt to our landlotjck.^Jid we must pav it 

within MBSfflflfflftRsm' 



ct Must ? 7t Mme. Rieu put the word with 
delicate emphasis. 

" Must/' replied Rodolfe, seriously. " Or 
he — his men, that is — will come in and force 
us out. That seems to be certain/ 1 

His sharp, clever face thrust the fact home 
to them. He turned to the Countess Leda, 

11 Each of us has made trial of his — or her 
— employers/ 1 he explained. " But our 
efforts have resulted in a total of seven pounds 
— leaving sixty-three pounds still to be 
obtained. Now ,T — he frowned thoughtfully 
— " it is inconceivable that the six of us, each 
braced to the purpose, should find such a sum 
utterly out of reach. There must be a market 
somewhere where we should he quoted at a 
higher value than that. As for me, I confess, 
my brains are stale of late ; there is a film 
over my intelligence; and I cannot guess 
where that market is. But I feel it is some- 
where \ my vanity will not let me doubt it. 
So it is well we should consider the thing 
together, in the hope that our joint intelli- 
gence may discover it," 

A silence followed his words ; six thought- 
ful faces were turned towards him. Count 
Palmaria nervously fingered the star on his 
coat, Mme. Rieu's fingers were making a 
cigarette without the help of her eyes. 
Rodolfe looked round at them all, and smiled. 

'* No suggestions ? " he asked. 

The Countess Leda leaned forward 

" Our landlord," she suggested. il Could 
you not talk to htm ? Could I not talk to 
him ? " She flushed, but held on courage- 
ously. " 1 would not mind pleading with 
him," she added. 

Rodolfe bowed to her. * ( It is a gracious 
and a kindly thought/ 1 he said. M A thought 
that does you honour, Countess. But our 
landlord is abroad ; his agent acts for him t 
and he is not the person to do you the favour 
you would ask. No ; there is nothing for it 
but the money or the end of the world. ** 

Again there was a pause. Presently the 
Uaron Saronoff, mild and spectacled, spoke. 

u I can make no suggestion/' he said, gently. 
1 But if we fail to obtain the money, 
what is the alternative ? I mean— what will 
happen to — to Her Highness ? Can you not 
take her elsewhere ? " 

fi No." It was the Countess Leda who 
replied. She spoke with a manner of 
authority^ * £ We cannot move the Princess. 
The doctor told me so to-day." 

" 1 see/' said the Baron. " I see now. 
Then we must get the money. We shall not 
get it by sitting here." 

Vol j.-u 

lie was a very benevolent- looking little 
gentleman, with his round spectacles and his 
gentleness ; hut he spoke in a tone of 

" I doubt whether that market exists in 
which we are to he bought at our own price/' 
he explained. " But if it does, talking 
together will not find it. For my part, 1 
shall make inquiries in the City. There is a 
youth in the office in which I am employed 
who knows how to obtain money. His 
stipend is eighteen shillings a week ; but that 
does not deter him from going into the world. 
He visits the theatre ; he discriminates 
among vintages ; in short, he is expensive 
and ornamental. I shall consult him," 

He looked about him with an air of innocent 
determination, like a resolute lamb, and took 
their smiles for a tribute. Colonel Sarasin 
laughed loud and deep. 

" All the same, it is the only thing that 
has been suggested/' cried the Colonel. "It 
is an idea, at any rate. Suppose, now, this 
were my own case, a personal matter of my 
own, What should I do ? Here are seven 
pounds ; I need seventy, and I go into the 
world, late in the evening. I seek with care 
a suitable place, a discreet house where such 
things are in order, and f put my fate and my 
money upon the card which takes my fancy. 
And either I have my seventy or I am not 
much farther from it. That is what I should 
do— Lord ! it is what I have done, again and 
again, in the old days when the case was mine." 

Baron Casimir shook his head soberly* 
" But this is not such a case," he demurred 

" No," said Rodolfe, thoughtfully, while 
little Saronoff looked from one to the other 
in the bewilderment of sudden revelation. 
" No," he repeated, pondering. "Still " 

They waited anxiously for htm to conclude. 
Only the Countess Leda looked a little 
distressed. Mine, Rieu, at the other end of 
the table, smoked imperturbably. 

" Still/ 5 said Rodolfe, suddenly, " it is an 
idea, for which we must thank the Baron 
Saronoff, And it is to be considered. 
Yes, it is to be— — " He broke off, with a 
quick flash of excitement in his vivid face. 
11 Why/ 3 he cried, u it is what we must do, 
if no money is obtained otherwise, Seven 
pounds is neither here nor there, since it will 
not save the Princess. How can we neglect 
to take any chance ? " 

He looked round at them with a swift 
vivacity that challenged their minds. On 
each of them the idea was dawning as a hope. 

u Do you QnriIiHah£raried* i£ Let us con- 
tinue tof^.j^^jr^ji^ffeji^ll means. We 



have a week — six days without the Sunday. 
For four of them let us go on, seriously and 
persistently , to exhaust all possible sources* 
Then, if we have failed, let us choose one of 
our number — or two, perhaps — to try this 
other expedient. For I, for one, shall not 
dare to leave anything untried," 

He turned to the Countess Leda. 
u Madam/* he said, " will you approve of 
this plan ? " 

She hesitated* u I will not ask you to 
leave anything untried/' she said, slowly, 

He turned to Mme. Rieu, 

" It has my best wishes/' she said. 

" Then are we to regard it as arranged ? M 
asked Rodolfe, putting the question to the 
men. There was no answer for a space of 

'* I think it is agreed/ 1 said Count Palmaria, 

(iaspar Rodolfe bowed. 

It is an instinct of man to trust the final 
expedient* Perhaps for the inhabitants of 
that old, cheap house there was no market ; 
but that they could never know. To each of 
them ? as the four days slipped by, came a 
sense that, after all, they had not expended 
their utmost endeavours to raise the need- 
ful money. Little Baron SaronofT felt this 
acutely ; he had yet an idea that a man of 
adroitness and observation, though bare of 
capital and empty of business training, could 
squeeze the City between his hands and see it 
drip profit as one wrings water from a sponge, 
IFe made confession of the matter to the 
Countess Leda Palmaria. 

11 One sees men rushing about/ J he told her, 
£ * hatless, intent, feverish. They create an 
atmosphere ; they are straining themselves 
like athletes. That, I think, is the key to 
modern business ; one must be tense, gab 
vaiilCj swamped in affairs ; one must rush 
about. Now I, Countess — I have not been 
rushing about ! " 

The Countess Leda smiled* f< Nor I/' she 

The fourth day was upon the household 
lief ore its members knew it ; it came with the 
fateful quickness of a great occasion. The 
Count Palmaria,, as he dressed that evening 
for his audience with the old Princes s, was 
smitten with astonishment at a review of the 
things he might have done, A vague indig- 
nation possessed him at the thought, but 
this soon passed when he was in the 
presence of the Princess again. Her in- 
firmity was heavy on her that evening ; she 
lay more loosely in her chair than usual ; a 
barren vacancy ruled her face ; her hands 
trembled and Hopped past her guidance* It 

helped to nerve him, the sight of her witless 
weakness ; all in him that was leal and 
gallant responded to the summons of her 
need and her helplessness ; and he went from 
her to join the others with something less 
than his usual discreet and deliberate gravity. 

In obedience to the courteous convention 
that governed them, none spoke of the 
matter of the money till the Countess Leda 
arrived and took her place and was served 
with tea and bread and butter. Her coming 
was the signal for the casual talk to cease. 

The Countess Leda looked up* " Docs 
the arrangement still hold ? " she asked, 

M Yes/ 1 answered Gaspar Rodolfe. u We 
are reduced to the arrangement you mean. 
We have not got the money," 

" When ? " asked the Countess. She was 
serious and quiet, and spoke with a touch of 

" It should he to-morrow night/' he replied, 
" We have no time to waste, Countess. The 
thing to settle now is which of us shall be 
deputed to — er— to manage the transaction," 

He looked at the Count Palm aria as he 
spoke, and, as other eyes followed his, the 
Count reddened faintly. Among the things he 
had left behind him when his country ceased 
to be was the reputation of a skilled and in- 
domitable gambler. He coughed and spoke 

" There should, I think, be two/' he said. 
il We must not forget we are in a strange 
country ; two of us are less likely to be at a 
loss than one," 

Colonel Sarasin nodded his agreement. 
"That's right/' he said, i( lie knows." 

Rodolfe was playing with his teaspoon like 
a man who is embarrassed. 

tl It is obvious," he said, i( that the Count 
Talmaria shoqld be one of these two." 

He looked up at the Countess Leda almost 
appealingly. She nodded gravely, 

" Yes/ 1 she said, with half a sigh ; " that 
is obvious. If it is to be done, it should be 
done by Max." Her left hand found the 
Count's right and she pressed it. 

Those who were watching the Count saw 
him frown for an instant. Then his face 
cleared, and he threw back his shoulders with 
a short laugh, 

" I shall be like a ghost revisiting the 
glimpses of the moon/' he said. <f And now 
for my companion. I nominate my friend, 
Gaspar Rodolfe." 

" Capital ! " cried Mme. Rieu, " Capital ! '* 

" But where will you play ? " demanded 
Colonel Siirjiif irvi a T^rfeW wont find a sign on 
a hoi^i^^i^i^^fpfs ' written on it," 



Little Baron Saronnflf beamed on them 
like a grey- haired baby, 

11 I will provide for that," he said, im- 
portantly. " I inquired of my young friend, 
and he will meet you at the bookstall in 
Waterloo Station and be your guide. He 

they accosted him, He was a flabby youth, 
loose in the mouth and puffy under the eyes ; 
and he was much too obviously impressed by 
the bearing of the pair he had undertaken 
to chaperon. 
"Who'd ha 4 thought it ? ,! he demanded^ 


will wear an orchid in his coat to be recog- 
nizable ; he follows a fashion set by the Lord 
Chamberlain, His name is Wiggs." 

* ( We shall be very grateful to Mr, Wiggs/' 
said the Count. 

The Countess Leda was smiling at Rodolfe. 
He seemed uneasy under it. 

No sense of the importance of their mission 
was lacking in the Count and his companion 
when they set forth on the following evening, 
Mr. Wiggs, lingering, his cigarette out, near 
the bookstall, received a sensible shock when 

14 From what I heard, I was expecting a 
couple of young chaps — from the country, 
you know ; not a couple of gents like you. 
Still, sport' s sport, isn't it ? " 

41 I agree with you/' replied the Count, 
while Rodolfe made an inspection of Mr. 
WIggs which was not altogether satisfactory. 
The young gentleman had too much the 
appearance of a callow pigeon. 

l( Well/' said Mr. WIggs, " we might as well 
be getting on as standing ere— unless you'd 
care for a drink ? No ? Well, I won't press 
you, S^ffi^MPtfftlTY 







by Google 

Original from 



They had a cab, and Mr. Wiggs directed 
the driver to set them down in Leicester 
Square. " It's not a minute from there/ 1 
he explained to his companions. It appeared 
that he could give them no choice of places 
to go to ; he knew only one gambling-hell, or 
roulette shop, on the fringe of Soho 3 a concern 
perched precariously in an upper floor where 
the police had not yet penetrated. i£ But/' 
explained Mr. Wiggs, *' it's on the square. I 
will say that for it. If it wasn't there' d soon 
be rows, an' that's just what a sporting house 
can't afford in London;" 

" I should have preferred cards/ 1 said the 
Count, thoughtfully. n But since there is no 
choice., roulette will suffice. It does not 
entirely do away with the superiority of the 
wise man over the foolish one." 

" Ah ; you've been at this game before/' 
hazarded Mr. Wiggs } acutely. 

They found their destination at last, in a 
forlorn street of obscure shops. There were 
formalities Vy be pone through at several doors 
before they emerged at last into a large room 
where some half-hundred people were sitting 
and standing about the figured table and 
the numbered wheel Shaded lamps over the 
table, casting all their light downwards ; 
outside the scope of their rays, the place was 
in shadow. Play was in full swing when they 
arrived ; a hard-faced croupier with a broken 
nose presided in his shirt-sleeves, his teeth 
clenched on the butt of a cigar ; and all was 
governed by a furtive and tip-toe quality, a 
cautious hush. 

The Count received change from a fat 
woman in tight evening dress — ten half- 
sovereigns and two pounds' worth of silver — 
and, with Rodolfe at his elbow, went over to 
look at the play across the heads of the seated 
gamblers. Both had left their overcoats at 
the gar tie -t oh e, and found themselves con- 
spicuous by reason of their evening dress. 
Most of those about them seemed to be 
representatives of the various foreign colonies 
in SoIiOj with a sprinkling of clerks and shop- 
keepers, a heterogeneous and dangerous 
crowd. Mr, Wiggs merged himself into it 
and was lost like a glass bead in water ; it 
was his own element. 

"Is this a place to win seventy pounds ? " 
whispered RodoUe. 

H Perhaps/' said the Count, shortly. 

Red had won several times running, and was 
being backed by a large number of players. 
Suddenly the Count drew a half -sovereign 
from his pocket and placed it on black, where 
it lay solitary. The croupier shot a swift 
glance at him as he placed his stake. 

" Game's made," he cried, and started the 

" Now we shall see," said the Count to 
Rodolfe, "If red wins again, he will pay 
nearly a hundred pounds. If black wins, he 
has only to pay me." 

" Black and odd wins/' announced the 
croupier ; and the Count picked up his money, 

A few minutes later a chair fell vacant, and 
the Count took it. Kodolfe stationed himself 
at his back, and the Count began to play. 
Many looked at him, at his demeanour of 
quiet and repose, at the precise mask of his 
face and the calculated assurance of his play, 
He was careful and moderate ; from backing 
one of the colours, always in favour of the 
bank, he advanced to staking on squares of 
twelve numbers, and for a while did not push 
his game farther. Little by little he collected 
in front of him a small heap of coins— half- 
sovereigns and silver. Rodolfe, who knew 
little of the game, watched him in fascination ; 
it was so dainty, so wonderful an art to see 
in exercise, the out- manoeuvring of blind 
chance and eheatery in alliance. The formal, 
silent man seated at the tabic was not the 
Count Pal mar ia he had known through lean 
years of clipped and starved life, an old- 
maidish man who had outlived his purpose. 
This was another, an altogether more formid- 
able person, serene and calm where all others 
were fevered and tense, a gambler of the grand 
school, one of those who fortify the vice with 
their own stubborn virtues. He noted it all 
with a keen palate for its dramatic flavour, 
for Caspar Rodolfe was always an artist 

A couple of hours slipped by, and at last 
the Count leaned back, " We have half/* he 
whispered* u Thirty-five pounds. The tabic 
cheats like a Chinaman. w 

Rodolfe shrugged. *' It is all in your hands, 
Count/' he said. '* You are master here/* 

The Count nodded, " I am going to play in 
earnest now/' he said, " You must remember 
it is a game of chance. Or it should be." 

He leaned forward and spoke to the croupier. 

" What is the maximum ? " T he inquired. 

The croupier turned and looked at him and 
at the monev before him, 

" Call it five pounds," he replied. He 
seemed a little puzzled, for some reason ; 
Rodolfe, looking at his hard fighter's face, 
thought he detected signs of ill -ease. 

The Count only nodded. He scanned the 
table before him and pushed five pounds 
forward. Everybody looked up with quick 
interest, and from the farther end of the table 
there was a craning of necks. The Count 
slid the moire jiraltfr-arringle number, 




" That is number twenty-lour," he said, 
aloud. The croupier scowled. A minute 
later he raked in the money. Mr. Wiggs, 
peering over the heads of the sitters, vented 
a cackle of laughter. The Count smiled, and 
thrust forward another five pounds. 

14 Twenty-four again/' he remarked, pleas- 
antly. He looked at the croupier as he spoke, 
and once more that functionary scowled. 
The Count's stake was raked in as before. 

There was lively interest in the Count now, 
for five pounds was a sum of some dignity in 
that place, Rodolfe, the practised observer, 
was able to deduce that from the faces, as a 
third and a fourth stake of five pounds went 
the way of the first and second. At the 
fifth } the fat lady who acted as money-changer 
came over to look on, and the croupier sud- 
denly spat his cigar out and began to fidget 
and look at the clock. He glanced again and 
again at the Count, sharp, speculati% r e glances 
shot from under narrow brows. 

* 4 Twenty-four again/' said the Count, 

A Greek opposite him shut his mouth with 
a snap j and, with the air of a man who has 
reached a determination, threw a half-crown 
on the same number. The Count shook his. 
head slightly, and the Greek darted forth a 
hand and picked his coin up again. 

14 Thirteen, red and odd," announced the 
croupier, and swept in the Count's five pounds* 

Scarcely had his rake passed over the table 
when the Count thrust forward the last five 
pounds. He leaned both elbows on the 
board and looked down to the croupier. His 
pale, clean-cut face was impassive save for a 
little smile ; he stood out, in that crowd of 
hucksters, like a jewel in the mud. The 
croupier evaded his eye and its quiet signifi- 
cance, Rodolfe saw that the man's face was 
suddenly shiny with sweat. 

ik Twenty-four again/' the Count said, in 
his pleasant, rather high voice. " And this 
wins," he added, distinctly. 

" Oh, does it ? " said the croupier, 

u Yes/' replied the Count. 

There rose to Rodolfes mind at that 
moment a quick remembrance of what it all 
meant, a flash-light picture of the household 
at MortJake, its welfare balanced in the 
coming turn of the wheel The interest and 
novelty of watching the play had banished 
it till then. He felt a gush of excitement 
rise in him, and laid a hand on the Count's 

M For God's sake ! n he breathed. 

The Count shrugged him off. 

" Yes, this wins/' he repeated. 

Digitized by C.OOQ I C 

Rodolfe saw the croupier bite his lower lip 
and nod his head like a man who resigns him- 
self. He eyed the Count no more, but started 
the wheel with a jerk of impatience, and sat 
looking at it It slowed, and the ball fell 
into the basin and buzzed there uneasily ; 
Rodolfe cleared his eyes with his hand* He 
couldn't see the number as the wheel stopped, 
and blanched as a cry arose from those who 
leaned over it + The Count was sitting back 
in his chair, unmoved, his tranquillity intact, 
like an eggshell that has come unbroken 
through an earthquake, There was a surge 
of people, a babble of various tongues, in- 
comprehensible and bewildering. Then the 
croupier rose ; his rake thrust something 
down the table, Rodolfe saw the Count's 
hands fingering through a heap of money, 

" Game's off ! " cried the croupier, un- 
steadily. i( Bank's broke/ 1 he explained, 

Rodolfe went down the stairs and into the 
street with the Count's arm in his and wonder 
surging in his mind like a tide* 

,£ How much have you won ? " he asked, 

" It should be a hundred and sixty pounds/' 
replied the Count, tranquilly. 4i But it was 
three pounds short/ 1 

Rodolfe took the fact in slowly and 
flavoured the relief and succour of it at 
length. But when they were ensconced in 
the train he burst out, 

" But what was the meaning of it ? " he 
cried. t( You played like a madman, and the 
table was unfair, Why did he let you win ? " 

The Count Palmaria leaned back in his 
corner and crossed his legs, 

" My dear Gaspar," he said, " to he a 
gambler one must be a man of personality. 
But to be a cheat one must be a man of 
much greater personality. Consider, now ; 
the croupier was braking the wheel so that 
I should lose. Anyone could do it once or 
twice, But to do it thrice running calls for 
some courage \ to do it four times demanded 
hardihood as well. The fifth time is the real 
test ; did you notice how he relieved himself 
of his cigar and braced himself ? The sixth 
time shook him badly ; his nerve did not last 
it out 7 so that at the seventh he did as 1 
counted on him to do— he gave me the game. 
It was merely a contest of individuality, or 
personalities — myself against a type which I 
understand very completely,' 1 

There was a pause as he concluded, Caspar 
Rodolfe broke it. " They will be sitting up 
for us to-night/ * he said, inconsequent ly. 

"God bless them ! " answered the Count 


Original from 




Illustrated by A. K. Macdonald. 



"on this morning she was sovtly and 
shyly radiant.* 1 

by Google 

^ITCHER, confidential clerk in 
the office of Harvey Maxwell, 
broker , allowed a look of mild 
interest and surprise to visit 
his usually expressionless 
countenance w r hen his em- 
ployer briskly entered at half- 
past nine in company with his young lady 
typist. With a snappy " Good morning. 
Pitcher," Maxwell dashed at his desk as 
though he were intending to leap over it, and 
then plunged into the great heap of letters 
and telegrams waiting there for him, 

The young lady had been Maxwell's 
typist for a year. She was beautiful in 
a way that was decidedly untypographic. 
She forewent the pomp of the alluring 
pompadour. She wore no chains, bracelets, 
or lockets.. She had not the air of being about 
to accept an invitation to luncheon. Her 
dress was grey and plain, but it fitted her 
figure with fidelity and discretion. In her 
neat black turban hat was the gold-green wing 
of a macaw. On this morning she was softly 
and shyly radiant* Her eyes were dreamily 
bright, her expression a happy onCj tinged 
with reminiscence. 

Pitcher, still mildly curious, noticed a 
difference in her ways this morning. Instead 
of going straight into the adjoining room, 
where her desk was, she lingered, slightly 
irresolute, in the outer office. Once she 
moved over by Maxwell's desk, near enough 
for him to be aware of her presence. 

The machine sitting at that desk w*as no 
longer a nwi^j.-iti ff^^a busy New York 



Max we 11 , sharply. His opened 
letters lay like a bank of stage snow 
on his crowded desk. His keen grey 
eye ? impersonal and brusque, flashed 
upon her half-impatiently. 

" Nothing/' answered the typist, 
moving away with a little smile, 

u Mr, Pitcher/ 5 she said to the 
confidential clerk/' did Mr, Maxwell 
say anything yesterday about en- 
gaging another typist ? *' 

He did/' answered Pitcher. 
" He told me to get another one. 
I notified the agency yesterday 
afternoon to send over a few 
samples this morning. It's nine 
forty-five o'clock, and not a single 
picture-hat or piece of pineapple 
chewing-gum has showed up yet/' 

" I will do the work as usual, 

broker, moved by buzzing wheels and uncoiling then/' said the young lady, " until someone 

springs, comes to fill the place." And she went to 

" Well — what is it ? Anything ? " asked her desk at once and hung the black turban 

r] ' 

• v --' 

Vol. 1,^12. 

" <wRLL "5y@oc^te 

TKtKG ? ' ASK HD MlSfWdtl £ I sfifiSMlfiLY. * 




hat with the gold- 
green macaw wing 
in its accustomed 

He who has 
been denied the 
spectacle of a busy 
broker during a 
rush of business is 
handicapped for 
the profession of 
anthropology, The 
poet sings of the 
41 crowded hour of 
glorious life. 1 ' The 
broker's hour is 
not only crowded, 
but the minutes 
and seconds art 
hanging to all the 
straps and pack- 
ing both front 
and rear plat- 

And this day 
was Harvey Max- 
well's busy day. 

The ticker . 
began to reel out 
jerkily its fitful 
coils of tape, the 
desk telephone 
had a chronic 
attack of buzzing. 
Wen began to 
throng into the 
office and call at 
him over the rail- 
i n g ; jovially, 
sharply, viciously, 
excitedly. Messen- 
ger buys ran in 

and out with messages and telegrams. The 
clerks in the office jumped about like sailors 
during a storm. Even Pitcher's face relaxed 
into something resembling animation. 

On the Exchange there were hurricanes 
and landslides and snowstorms and glaciers 
and volcanoes, and those elemental disturb- 
ances were reproduced in miniature in the 
broker's offices* Maxwell shoved his chair 
against the wall and transacted business after 
the manner of a toe-dancer. He jumped 
from ticker to phone, from desk to door, with 
the trained agility of a harlequin. 

In the midst of this growing and important 
stress the broker Iw.arne suddenly aware of 
a high-rolled fringe of golden hair under a 
nodding canopy of velvet and ostrich tips, an 

Digitized by VjOOQle 

™ IP 



imitation sealskin sac que > and a string of 
beads as large as hickory nuts ; ending near, 
the floor with a silver heart. There was a 
self-possessed young lady connected with 
these accessories j and Pitcher was there to 
construe her, 

1( Lady from the Typewriting Agency to 
sec about the position/' snid Pitcher. 

Maxwell turned half-around, with his hands 
full of papers and ticker tape. 

<f What position ? " he asked, with a frown, 

w Position of typist/' said Pitcher. M You 
told me yesterday to call them up and 
have one sent over this morning/' 

" You are losing your mind, Pitcher/* said 
Maxwell. :t Why should I have given you 
any such instructions ? Miss Leslie has 




given perfect satisfaction during the year she 
has been here. The place is hers as long as 
she chooses to retain it. There's no place 
open here, madam. Countermand that order 
with the agency, Pitcher, and don't bring any 
more of "cm in here." 

The silver heart left the office, swinging and 
banging itself independently against the 
office furniture as it indignantly departed. 
Pit* her seized a moment to remark to the 
bookkeeper that the u old man " seemed to 
get more absent-minded and forgetful every 
day of the world, 

The rush and pace of business grew fiercer 
and faster. On the floor of the Exchange 
they were pounding half-a-dozen stocks in 
which Maxwell's customers were heavy 
investors. Orders to buy and sell were 
coming and going as swift as* the flight of 
swallows. Some of his own holdings were 
imperilled, and the man was working like 
some high-geared, delicate, strong machine 
— strung to full tension, going at full speed, 
accurate, never hesitating, with the proper 
word and decision and act ready and prompt 
as clockwork. Stocks and bonds, loans and 
mortgages, margins and securities — here was 
a world of finance, and there was no room in 
it for the human work! or the world of Nature. 

When the luncheon hour drew near there 
came a slight lull in the uproar. 

Maxwell stood by his desk with his hands 
full of telegrams and 
memoranda, with a 
fountain pen over his 
right ear and his hair 
hanging in disorderly 
strings over his fore- 
head. His window was 
open, for Spring had 
turned on a little 
warmth through the 
waking registers of the 

And through the 
window came a wander- 
ing—perhaps a lost — - 
odour — a d e 1 i c a t e , 
sweet odour of lilac that 
fixed the broker for a 
moment immovable. 
For this odour belonged 
to Miss Leslie ; it was 
her own, and hers only. 

The odour brought 
her vividly, almost 

^ Google 

tangibly before him. The world of finance 
dwindled suddenly to a speck, And she was 
in the next room — twenty steps away. 

Ci By George, Til do it now, t? said Maxwell, 
half-aloud, " I'll ask her now. I wonder I 
didn't do it long ago. J! 

He dashed into the inner office with the 
haste of an excited speculator. He charged 
upon thq^desk of the typist * 

She looked up at him with a smile. A 
soft pink crept over her check, and her eyes 
were kind and frank. Maxwell leaned one 
elbow on her desk. lie still clutched fluttering 
papers with both hands and the pen was 
above his ear, 

" Miss Leslie/' he began, hurriedly, £i I 
have but a moment to spare* I want to say 
something in that moment. Will you be my 
wife ? I haven't had time to make love to 
you in the ordinary way, but I really do love 
you. Talk quick, please — those fellows are 
clubbing the stuffing out of Union Pacific. " 
*■ Oh, what are you talking about ? " 
exclaimed the young lady. She rose to her 
feet and gazed upon him, round-eyed. 

"Don't you understand? M said Maxwell, 
restively. " I want you to marry me. I 
lose you, Miss Leslie, I wanted to tell you, 
and I snatched a minute when things 
liad slackened up a bit. They're ad ling 
me for the phone now. Tell 'cm to 
wait a minute, Pitcher. Won't you, Miss 
Leslie ? " 

The typist acted 
very queerly. At first 
she seemed overcome 
with amazement; then 
tears flowed from her 
wondering eyes ; and 
then she smiled sunnily 
through them, and 
her two arms slid 
tenderly about the 
broker's neck. 

lt I know now," she 
said, softly. li It s 
this old business that 
lias driven everything 
else out of your head 
for the time* I was 
frightened at first. 
Don't you remember, 
Harvey ? We were 
married yesterday in 
the Little Church 
Round the Corner \ 3 ' 

Original from 

by \jOOg 


Living Wonders 
of the Deep Sea. 



Fhatoffraph* len* fctf tt* American tfuuntn of ft'n tural HiitoTi/. 

more remarkable 
world than that 

HERE Is no 
fishing in the 

done by the United States steamer 
Albatross, a glistening white craft 
of less than a thousand tons, 
manned by a force of bluejackets 
and presided over by oceano 
graphcrs and zoologists from various museums 
and universities j who face perils and discomforts 
in many seas in pursuit of strange creatures of 
the deep. The Albatross fishes with a, line three 
miles long, of tun four miles long, toqhjdtfmes six 




miles long or over, a line of slender cable, 
hut wonderfully strung, rolled off a deck 
winch by a sputtering steam engine ? that 
will bring up from the ocean floor a three or 
four ton haul of sponges, crinoids, jelly fish, 
sea-urchins, giant crabs, lon^ white worms 
that break iti two if you touch theirs phos- 
phorescent trees — really animals — sea- 
cucumbers with hideous heads, starfish, devil- 
fish, pelican-fish, lantern-fish, sharks' teeth, 
whales' ear- bones, sea-cows' ribs, and scores 
of other extraordinary things. 

The Albatross follows no beaten paths of 
commerce. She goes where other vessels 
rarely go. She explores forgotten corners of 
the seven seas, drops her great nets by day 
and by night, takes hundreds of soundings 
in uncharted waters, and, after a cruise of 
months, brings home her trophies for final 
safe keeping in jars filled with alcohol and 
labelled with Greek and lectin names. This 
sort of work she lias been doing for ovct 
thirty years, 

For details of work done aboard the 
Albatross, and of strange creatures brought 
up by her from the depths of the ocean, 
I am indebted to Dr. Austin H* Clark, of 
the Washington National Museum, who was 
the scientist in charge of this interesting vessel 
during one of her recent cruises in the Pacific. 
From the Bering Sea to the waters east of 
Korea they zigzagged backwards and forwards 
during many months, making hundreds of 
hauls and soundings, and bringing up deep- 
sea specimens that will keep men busy for 
months sorting them and classifying them. 

It appears that various kinds of nets are 
used in oeeanographic work, some so arranged 
that they can be sent down closed, and then 
opened, at any desired depth, by an iron 
messenger sent sliding down the wire ; then, 
having been left open long enough to catch 
specimens at that depth, they may be closed 
again by another messenger. 

The trawl net used by the Albatross in 
deep-sea fishing— it weighs about two hundred 
and fifty pounds — is a huge bag twenty- 
three feet long and twelve feet wide. Its 
mouth is held open by a twelve-foot iron 
cross l>ar, and among the weights that take 
it to the bottom is a five -hundred-pound 
iron ball that hangs from the reelcd-out steel 
cable, miles of it, and hauls the net behind ; 
that is, the steamer drags the iron ball and 
the ball drags the net, this arrangement 
being necessary to keep the net under even 
horizontal pull. 

Every day, when the Albatross is working 
in favourable waters, the trawl-net is lowered 

and dragged along for hours at a depth of 
one mile or two miles or three miles or four 
miles ; then it is lifted to the deck and its 
contents are dumped into receiving sieves, 
where the mud is washed out and the treasures 
of the sea are separated. 

Among the strangest creatures brought up 
from great depths, sometimes as great as 
three miles, are the * £ lilies that eat meat," 
hungry -mouthed animals that have the form 
of beautiful plants with gracefully branching 
arms and brilliant colours. These erinoids, 
as they are scientifically known, spread miles 
over the floor of the ocean in vast swaying 
gardens, all red or all yellow at great depths, 
but in the higher levels abounding in many 
gorgeous pinks and purples, blues and 

Never was there an animal so lacking in 
any immediate usefulness as the crinoid. 
It cannot move, it has no eyes, it makes no 
attack, and it does no harm. It simply eats, 
playing the part of universal scavenger of 
the seas, catching all food that falls through 
the waters, animal and vegetable, in its ten 
or more waving arms, each of which has a long 
groove lined with propulsive hairs, that work 
the food along in the manner of a moving 
stairway to a central mouth and stomach* 
This stomach lies between the bases of the 
arms, which rest either upon a long stalk or 
upon two or three dozen legs that cling fast 
to rocks or other animals, or spread out upoi 
the surface of the mud. The crinoid is perhaps 
the only creature in the sea that is not desired 
as food by some other creature ; but these 
animal lilies which eat everything are not 
themselves to be eaten, being too brittle, too 
full of lime— all skeleton^ as it were. Even 
the stomach of a crinoid has its own skeleton* 

In the midst of gorgeous submarine forests 
and waving gardens that fringe the reefs of the 
ocean floor and spread over its va^t plains 
are abundant clusters of shining trees or 
bushes known as sea feathers or sea -pens, 
these also being animals, not vegetables. 
Their long stems glow with a dull phos- 
phorescent light when the trawl nets bring 
them up from the depths, and if they are 
touched with ammonia they shine brightly. 
It is thought that their light is dulled through 
their fright in capture, and it is probable 
that normally they give forth a brilliant 
radiance when they desire to attract their 
prey or to terrify their enemies. 

I asked Dr. Clark if fishes have good 
hearing, and he replied that they have an 
auditory apparatus, although they lack 
external ears. And some fishes utter sounds 




that can he heard under the water. The 
squirrel-fish makes a noise like a squirrel 
chewing on a nut, the drum-fish produce 
a drumming sound, the " gnmts " a grunting 
sound, and laboratory experiments at Woods 
Hole and elsewhere have shown that fishes 
react unmistakably to sounds about them. 

As to the range of vision in fishes, little 
is definitely known, except that some species, 
like sharks, have very keen eyesight, while 
others seem to get on excellent ly T perhaps by 
feeling, in dark or muddy waters where eye- 

blind fish get their Iood 3 and it has been 
suggested that they may live on the mud 
at the ocean bottom, which, to a depth of 
three or four miles, is rich in organic matter 
that sifts down ceaselessly from the areas 
above* Various bottom -dwelling sea-urchins 
and starfish live on this nutritive mudj and 
blind fish may live in the same way. 

Let us consider the deep-sea fish that are 
not blinds and see what use these dwellers in 
darkness make of their eyesight. An answer 
to this puzzle was furnished a few years ago 


sight can little serve them. It is certain that 
the depths of the ocean, all below an upper 
mile or so, are wrapped in absolute darkness. 
No ray of light from the sun ever penetrates 
there. Everywhere is utter blackness, so that 
photographic plates may be exposed for torjrs 
and not be affected. 

The fish brought up from this abyss are 
small in size and black or red in colour, red 
being actinically the equivalent of black. 
And many of these bottom-of-thc-ocean fish 
are blind* One might imagine that all of them 
would be blind in a region of perpetual night, 
but such is not the ease. Some fish in these 
great depths have eyes, and use them most 
effectively, as will presently appear. 

There has been discussion as to how the 

by a scientist, Lieutenant Bouree, associated 
with the Prince of Monaco in the deep-sea 
exploration cruises to which Prince Albert has 
long been devoted. It was in early summer, 
and the ocean ographic steam yacht, either 
the Hirondelle or the Princess Alice, with its 
force of scientists and its elaborate hauling 
apparatus, was steaming along through the 
mid-Atlantic, when Lieutenant Bourcc, a 
young enthusiast, resolved to test a theory of 
his own touching creatures of the deep, a new 
theory that would have been laughed at by 
oceanographers had he laid it before them. 
The accepted idea at this time was that the 
deep ocean was populated throughout its 
surface-sunlit layer ar.dalso at the bottom, but 
that t ^|^f|$f ^^ifl^^pl ^g^ij-pYrit^med no life. 

9 6 


Lieutenant Bouree cnuld not understand 
this. He did not telle ve it* It did not seem 
1 reasonable to him that this immense water 
space, tens of thousands of cubic miles, 
comprising the half-way-down area, should be 
barren of life. And without consulting his 
fellow-scientists, without asking permission 
of the Prince of Monaco, he proceeded to 
a practical demonstration. It was only 
necessary to lower the trawls down to this 
middle region, say to a depth of two miles 
or so ? and let them drag there for a time, 
and see what they brought up, or if they 
brought up anything. 

The lieutenant selected for this experiment 
an evening when he knew that a gala dinner 
would keep the company below in the saloon 
for several hours, During this time the trawls 
were busy, and at an auspicious moment their 
contents were spread before the astonished 
gaze of the ruler and his guests. This settled 
the question. There, wriggling on the deck, 
were bushels of fish from the middle-depth 
region, where no fish were supposed to exist, 
and among these the experts recognized 
strange specimens from the lowest levels, 
fish that were believed never to rise from the 
abyss ; yet here they were. On this particular 
evening they had certainly risen a mile or two ; 
there was no doubt of it \ there was no mistake 
as to the level at which the trawl-nets had 
been dragged. I have this story from an 
oceanographer connected with the New York 

Similar experiments by Professor Agassiz 
on the Albatross, and by other ocean ographers, 
have clearly demonstrated that various species 
of deep-dwelling fish practise an up and 
down migration from the lowest depths, where 
they pass the day, a mile or two beneath the 
surface, to higher levels of the ocean, half a 
mile, or a mile, or two miles higher, to which 
levels they rise at night. This seems to be 
their regular scheme of existence, up at night, 
down in the daytime- Same of these deep 
dwellers, when darkness falls, ascend almost 
to the ocean surface, and then, having accom- 
plished their purpose, descend again. 

What is their purpose ? It is the simple and 
natural one of getting food for themselves, 
food being more abundant in the upper levels 
t ha n in t he de pt hs . And they come up at night 
because many of the fierce, top-dwelling fish, 
swift darting mackerel, for instance, are unable 
to see at night p which leaves the slow and puny 
depth dwellers free to feed on small shrimps, 
crustaceans, fish larvae, etc., that float abund- 
antly at and near the surface, whereas in 
daylight they themselves would be devoured 


by their powerful enemies. These upward 
migrators from the depths have enormous 
eyes, which, doubtless, enable them to see 
perfectly in the moon and star light diffused t 
through the upper levels, that must seem 
to them brilliantly illuminated after the utter 
darkness below. 

Among the strangest of these ascending 
night feeders are the lantern fish, weak little 
creatures, but remarkable for this — that their 
bodies are dotted over with electric lights, 
certain round phosphorescent spots arranged 
in rows along the sides that glow brilliantly, 
just as fireflies glow, especially a large spot 
on the end of their noses that shines like a 
searchlight. So these queer fish move through 
the water, ascending and descend ng, small 
submarines, all ablaze. There may be a double 
usefulness in these phosphorescent lights which 
flare up suddenly against a deep-sea enemy and 
frighten him away, or which lure the prey at 
higher levels as a candle lures the moth* 

The potency of light in attracting wan- 
derers of the deep is seen in the equipment 
of the lure-fish, a grotesque creature with a 
huge mouth that hides its black body in the 
mud and waits patiently for victims, dangling 
before them a phosphorescent bulb that 
shines at the end of a long filament— a self- 
grown and self -baited fishing-rod curving 
forward from the animal's head and hanging 
temptingly before its hungry jaws, ready to 
snap open at the approach of a curious visitor. 
These lure-fish are found at the depth of three 
miles or more. 

Perhaps Nature *s most fantastic creation 
among fish that tempt their prey by means 
of phosphorescent light is the wonder-fish, 
with its snare mouth— Tkaumaticktkys Pagi- 
doslomus — a brand-new discovery brought up 
by the Albatross during her Philippine cruises 
from a depth of nearly a mile off the island 
of Celebes, The Tkaumatichthys Pagidostomus 
— oceanographers spend hours naming these 
creatures — is remarkable for its sombre 
ugliness, for its tw r o tiny eyes so near the 
corners of its mouth that they seem in danger 
of being swallowed, and for the enormous size 
of this mouth, which opens like an elastic 
cavern, and is provided with large hinged and 
hooked teeth that fold back against the jaws 
to allow easy entrance of the prey and then 
swing forward, once the prey is inside, to 
bar escape. Most extraordinary of all is a 
phosphorescent bulb in the roof of the mouth 
that shines brilliantly when this wonder-fish 
spreads its jaws, and that serves to attract 
victims. . 

Among _prized captures of the trawl-nets 




are many beaurifully- formed and gorgeously 
coloured l ; ttle creatures that m glit properly 
Ix* called opals of the sea. but really tome under 
the classification of sea- worms. Some 
swim in the ocean, some live on the rocks 
insde of straight or crooked tubes which they 
mike out of sand or lime, some hitch 
themselves fast to the shells of other 
animals, the slurp spikes of sea- 
urchins, or the branches of corals. 
Some of them are ten or fifteen 
feet long and no wider than 
two fingers and no thicker 
than one. extremely brittle 
creatures, easily divided 

ming tandem, might easily suggest the con- 
volutions of some huge single unclassified sea 

For fishing in the upper ocean levels the 

Albatross uses tow-nets considerably smaller 

than the trawl-nets, these tow-nets 

l>eing dragged along at a depth of 

about one hundred fathoms by 

day and at the surface by 

night, for with the approach 

of darkness many fish rise to 

the surface. These tow -nets are long 

bags of various sizes, ihe mouths being 

kept open by a brass hoop and the 

smaller ends holding a brass bucket in 

which the fish are caught. These nets 



imo fragments that go on living as separate 

Each haul of the nets brings up some deep- 
sea wonder. It may be the hideous viper- fish, 
with teeth so long that they fold outside of his 
mouth like the tusks of a wild boar ; or the 
snipe eeL with a bill like its namesake and a 
body like a length of whipcord \ or the queer 
pelican-fish, that will swallow a fish much 
larger thin itself and somehow dgest it ; 
or a dead ribbon-fish with its almost trans- 
parent body, twenty feet long and a foot wide 
and half an inch thick ; or a great red jelly- 
fish full of poisonous darts coiled up in its 
body and ready to shoot out their venom 
against any touch. 

I asked Dr. Clark if oceanographers can 
throw any light on the sea-serpent legend. 

** Certainly we can," he said. " Ordinarily 
it takes two basking sharks to make one sea- 
serpent. These sharks are forty or fifty feet 
long, and they travel in pairs, male and 
female, line ahead, close together, both show- 
ing above the water a length of tail and dorsal 
fin. The sight of two such creatures, swim- 

are let down from boat booms on either side 
of the deck, and drag along thirty ot forty 
feet behind the vessel. 

However eager for new specimens he may 
be, the experienced oceanographer is extremely 
careful in his handling of the white enamelled 
pan into which the contents of the tow-net 
are emptied. There may be dangers here 
unsuspected by the novice. Even a poor 
haul of a few red shrimps and wriggling 
black fish in a snarl of slimy seaweed may 
have its dangers. The slime on the seaweed, 
for instance, may have come from a mos 
poisonous jelly-fish known as the Portuguese 
man-o'-war. that has stung to death many 
a valiant swimmer with rU ten-foot streamers 
that paralyze the body. 

Another danger lurking in the tow-nets is 
the possible presence of a strange crustacean 
related to a crab, an uncanny creature about 
three inches long, that is invisible, literally 
invisible, owing to the fact that its head and 
body, its arms, legs, and claws, are quite 
transparent. The presence of this animal in 
the receiving pan is usually indicated by 




a disturbance among its visible neighbours, 

the shrimps and fishes, and when it is lifted 

out with a pair of tongs it appears like the 

glass model of a crab with slowly moving 

glass legs and glass claws. Whin killed this 

crab loses its trans 

parency and reveals 

itself in a dull white 

colouring like the 

white of an egg. The 

Albatross encountered 

many of these invisible 

wrigglers while fishing 

in Japanese waters, 

It is well known that 

very young fish and 

tiny eels are quite 

transparent except for 

two black dots which 

mark their eyes. 

Dr. Clark explained 
to me that while many 
fish have an extra- 
ordinary power of 
adapting themselves 
to their backgrounds, 
literally changing the 
colours and the pat 
terns of their skins, 
and thus rendering 
themselves invisible 
to enemies, there are 
others that seem to 
make themselves as 
conspicuous as pos- 
sible, flaunting their 
vivid colours ? 
would say, dart- 
ing about like 
flashing rain- 
bows. This is 
because Nature in 
her profusion has 
given to one 
species a certain 
means o f defence } 
and to another 
species a different 
means. Thus the 
brilliantly - hued 
mackerel fears 
nothing that 
swims 1 not even 
the savage shark, 
l>ecause he knows 
that his swiftness 
can save him* And 
in tropical waters, 
w i t h 



fish gorgeous in gayest blue and gold and 
scarlet, there is quite a different protection. 

These jewelled beauties, swimming about 
rather tamely, would be helpless against 
ravenous pursuers were it not that they 

live in shallow tide 
pools and near coral 
reefs, where these pur^ 
suers dare not follow 
them. Why not ? Be 
cause coral reefs are 
full of stings of the live 
coral creatures, stints 
that hurt a manshand 
if he touches them and 
might destroy the eyes 
of any big fish that 
ventured among their 
tortuous aims and 
branches. And tide 
pools abound in sea- 
urchins with sharp 
barbed spines, hun- 
dreds of them, that 
break off in a wound, 
also in sea -anemones 
possessed of a power 
which dangers the big 
fish could not avoid in 
shallows and narrow- 
passages, whereas the 
"ttle pretty fellows, 
:i butterflies of the 
sea/ ? by some ancient 
instinct steer safely 
among them. 

The Albatross 
also takes deep- 
sea soundings. 
Another regular 
task is making 
observations of 
thesaltnessof the 
sea, which varies 
greatly in dif- 
ferent localities. 
Some patient 
stacis ician has 
calculated that if 
all the salt in the 
sea were evapo- 
rated and spread 
over the entire 
United States, it 
would cover 
them more than 
a mile and a luilf 

by Google 


Original from 






Illustrated hy Lewis Baumer, 

HEN Jack Wilton first came 
to Mar vis Bay none of us 
dreamed that he was a man 
with a hidden sorrow in his 
life. There was something 
about the man which "made 
the idea absurd— or would 
have made it absurd if he himself had not 
been the authority for the story. He looked 
so thoroughly pleased with life and with 
himself. He was one of those men whom 
you instinctively label in your mind as 
M strong/' He was so healthy, so fit, and had 
such a confident, yet sympathetic, look about 
him that you felt, directly you saw him, that 
here was the one person you would have 
selected as the recipient of that hard-luck 
story of yours. You felt that his kindly 
strength would have been something to lean 

As a matter of fact, it was by trying to 
lean on it that Spencer (lay got hold of the 
facts of the case ; and when young Clay got 
hold of anything:, Marvis Bay at large had it 
hot and fresh a few hours later ; for Spencer 
was one of those slack-jawed youths who are 
constitutionally incapable of preserving a 

Within two hours, then, of Clay's chat with 
Wilton everyone in the place knew that, 
jolly and hearty as the new-comer might 
seem, there was that gnawing at his heart 
which made his outward eheeriness simply 

Clay ? it seems, who is the worst specimen 
of self-pitier, had gone to Wilton, in whom, 
as a new-comer, hs naturally saw a fine fresh 
repository for his tales of woe, and had opened 
with a long yarn of some misfortune or other. 
1 forget which it was ; it might have been any 
one of a dozen or so which he had constantly 
in stock ; and it is immaterial which it was. 
The point is that, having heard him out very 
politely and patiently, Wilton came back at 
him with a story which silenced even ("lay. 
Spencer was equal to most things, but even 
he could not go on whining about how he had 
foozled his putt, or been snubbed at the 

Digitized by d 

bridge- table, or whatever it was that he was 
pitying himself about just then, when a man 
was telling him the story of a wrecked life. 

" He told me not to let it go any farther," 
said Clay to everyone he met, ft but of course 
it doesn't matter telling you. It is a thing 
lie doesn't like to have known, He told me 
because he said there was something about 
me that seemed to extract eon fi deuces —a 
kind of strength, he said. You wouldn't 
think it to look at him, but his life is an abso- 
lute blank. Absolutely ruined, don't you 
know. He told me the whole thing so simply 
and frankly that it broke me all up. It 
seems that he was engaged to he married a 
few years ago, and on the wedding morning— 
absolutely on the wedding morning- -the 
girl was taken suddenly ill, and " 

M And died ? " 

11 And died. Died in his arms. Absolutely 
in his arms, old top," 

" What a terrible thing!" 

u Absolutely. lies never got over it. 
You won't let it go any farther, will you, old 
man ? " And off sped Spencer, to tell the 
tale to someone else. 

Everyone was terribly sorry for Wilton. 
He was such a good fellow, such a sportsman, 
and. above alb so young, that one hated the 
thought that, laugh as he m'ght T beneath his 
laughter there lay the pain of that awful 
memory. He seemed so happy , too, It 
was only in moments of confidence, in those 
heart-to-heart talks when men reveal their 
deeper feelings, that, he ever gave a hint that 
all was not well with him. As for example, 
when Ellerton, who is always in love with 
someone, backed him into a corner one evening 
and began to tell him the story of his latest 
affair, he had hardly begun when such a look 
of pain came over Wilton's face that he ceased 
instantly. He said afterwards that the 
sudden realization of the horrible break he 
was making hit him like a bullet, and the 
manner in which he turned the conversation, 
practically without pausing, from love to a 
discussion of the best method of getting out 




of the bunker at the seventh hole was, in the 
circumstances, a triumph of tact. 

Marvis Bay is a quiet place, even in the 
summer, and the Wilton tragedy was 
naturally the subject of much talk. It is a 
sobering thing to get a glimpse of the under- 
lying sadness of life like that, and there was 
a disposition at first on the part of the com- 
munity to behave in his presence in a manner 
reminiscent of pa 11- bearers at a funeral. But 
things soon adjusted themselves. He was 
outwardly so cheerful that it seemed ridiculous 
for the rest of us to step softly and speak with 
hushed voices. After all, when you came to 
examine it, the thing was his affair, and it 
was for him to dictate the lines on which it 
should be treated. If he elected to hide his 
pain under a bright smile and a laugh like 
that of a hyena with a more than usually 
keen sense of humour, our line was obviously 
to follow his lead. 

We did so \ and by degrees the fact that 
his life was permanently blighted became 
almost a legend* At the back of our minds 
we were aware of it, but it did not obtrude 

Hatters had been at this stage for perhaps 
two weeks, when Mary Campbell arrived. 

Sex attraction is so purely a question of the 
taste of the individual that the wise man 
never argues about it, He accepts its 
vagaries as part of the human mystery, and 
leaves it at that. To me there was no charm 
whatever about Mary V mphell. It may 
have been that, at the moment, I was in love 
with Grace Bates, Heloise Miller, and Clarice 
Wembly — for at Marvis Bay in the summer a 
man who is worth his salt is more than equal 
to three love affairs simultaneously — but, 
anyway, she left me cold. Not one thrill 
could she awake in me. She was small and, 
to my mind, insignificant. Some men said 
that she had fine eyes. They seemed to me 
just ordinary eyes. And her hair was just 
ordinary hair. In fact, ordinary was the 
word that described her. 

But from the first it was plain that she 
seemed wonderful to Wilton, Which was all 
the more remarkable, seeing that he was the 
one man of us all who could have got any 
girl in Marvis Bay that he wanted. When 
a man is six foot high, is a combination of 
Herrules and Apollo, j:nd plays tennis, golf. 


itself into the affairs of every day. It was 
only when someone — forgetting, as Ellerton 
had done— t tied to enlist his sympathy for 
some misfortune of his own that the look of 
pain in his eyes and the sudden tightening of 
his lips reminded us that he still remembered. 

Digitized by GoOQle 

and the banjo with almost superhuman vim, 
his path with the girls of a summer seaside 
resort is pretty smooth. Hut when you add 
to all these things a tragedy like Wilton's, 
he can only be described as having a walk- 

Original from 




Girls love a tragedy — at least, most girls 
do. It makes a nun interesting to them. 
Grace Bates was always on about how interest- 
ing Wilton was ; so was Heloise Miller, .so 
was Clarice Wembly. But it was not until 
Mary Camplx^l came that he displayed any 
real enthusiasm at all for the feminine element 
of Marvis Bay, We put it down to the fact 
that he could not forget ; but the real reason, 
I now know, was that he considered lhat 
girls were a nuisance on the links and in the 
tennis court, I suppose a plus two golfer 
and a Wildingesque tennis player, such as 
Wilton was, does feel like that. Personally, 
I think that girls add to the fun of the thing. 
But then my handicap is twelve, and, though 
I have been playing tennis for many year's , 
I doubt if I have got my first serve -the fast 
one — over the net more than half-a-dozen 
time - . 

But Mary Campbell overcame Wilton's 
prejudices in twenty-four hours, He seemed 
to feel lonely on the links without her, and 
he positively egged her to be his partner in 
the doubles* What Mary thought of him 
we did not know* She was one of those 
inscrutable girls. 

And so things went on. If it had not been 
that I knew Wilton's story, I should have 
classed the thing as one of those summer love 
affairs to which the Marvis Bay air is so 
peculiarly conducive. The only reason why 
anyone comes away from a summer at Marvis 
Bay un betrothed is because there are so 
many girls that he falls in love with that 
his holiday is up before he can, so to speak, 

But in Wilton's case this was out of the 
question. A man does not get over the sort 
of blow he had had not. at any rate, for 
many years: and we bid gathered that his 
tragedy was comparatively recent* 

I doubt if I was ever more astonished in my 
life than the night when he confided in me. 

Why he should have chosen me as a con- 
fidant, T cannot say. I am inclined to think 
ill it I happened to he alone with him at 
Ihe psychological moment when a man must 
confide in somebody or burst } and Wilton 
chose the lesser evil. 

I was strolling along the shore after dinner, 
smoking a cigar, and thinking of Grace Bates, 
Heloise Miller, and Clarice Wembly, when 
I happened upon him. It was a beautiful 
night, and we sat down and drank it in for 
a while. The first intimation I had that all 
was not well with him was when he suddenly 
emitted a hollow groan, 

The next moment he had begun to confide. 

Digitized by GOOJZIC 

" Fm in the deuce of a hole/' he said 
** What v/ould you do in my position ? +l 

41 Yes ? " I said. 

li I proposed to Mary Camp MI this 

tL Congratulations.'' 

tL Thanks. She refused me." 

11 Refused you ! H 

** Yes— because of Amy; T 

It seemed to me that the narrative required 
foot -notes, 

" Who is Amy ? " I said. 

li Amy is the girl." 

" Which girl ? " 

lf The girl who died, you know, Mary had 
got hold of the whole story. In fact, it was the 
tremendous sympathy she showed that 
encouraged me to propose. If it hadn't been 
for that, I shouldn't have liad the nerve, 
I'm not fit to black her shoes." 

Odd, the poor opinion a man always has, 
when he is in love, of his personal attractions. 
There were times, when I thought of Grace 
Bates, Heloise Miller, and Clarice Wembly, 
when I felt like one of the beasts that perish. 
But then I'm nothing to write home about, 
whereas the smallest gleam of intelligence 
should have told Wilton that he was a kind 
of "Ouida 1 ' guardsman. 

11 This evening I managed somehow to do 
it. She was tremendously nice about it — 
said she was very fond of me } and all that ? 
but it was quite out of the question because 
of Amy/ 5 

" I don't follow. What did she mean ? " 

*' It's perfectly clear, if you bear in mind 
that Mary is the most sensitive, spiritual, 
h ghly-strung girl that ever— drew breath," 
s.iid Wilton, a little coldly. A Her position is 
this. She feels that, because of Amy, she can 
never have my love completely. Between us 
there would always be Amy's memory. It 
would be the same as if she married a 

"Well, widowers marry." 

*" They don't marry girls like Mary. 1 ' 

I couldn't help feeling that this was a bit 
of luck for the widowers ; but I didn't say so. 
One has always got to remember that opinions 
differ about girls, One man's peach, so to 
speak, is another man's poison. I have met 
men who d dnt like Grace Bates — men who, 
it Heloise Miller or Clarice Wembly had given 
them their photographs, would have used them 
to cut the pages of a novel. 

** Amy stands between us/ 7 said Wilton, 

I breathed a sympathetic snort. I couldn't 
think of anything noticeably suitable to say. 

II Stands between us/' repeated Wilton, 

Original from 






friends. It's 

4 Arid the silly part of the whole thing is 
that there isn't any Amy* I invented her/ 1 

" You— what? " 

14 Invented her. Made her up. No, I'm 
not mad* I had a teas on. Let me see — you 
come from London, don't 

[t Yes." 

M Then you haven't 
different with me. I 
live in a small country 
town, and everyone's 
my friend. I don't 
know what it is about 
me, but for some reason, 
ever since I can re 
member j I've been 
looked on as the Strong 
Man of my town, the 
man who's all right* 
Am I making myself 
clear ? " 

t( Not quite." 

" Well, what I am 
trying to get at is this. 
Kit her because I'm a 
strong sort of fellow to 
look at, and have ob- 
viously never been sick 
in my life, or because 
I can't help looking 
pretty cheerful f the 
whole of Bridle y-in-t he- 
Wold seems to take it for granted that I can't 
possibly have any troubles of my own, and 
that 1 am consequently fair game for anyone 
who has any sort of worry. I have the sym- 
pathetic manner, and they come to me to be 
cheered up. If a fellow's in love, he makes 
a bee-line for me and tells me all about it. If 
anyone has had a bereavement, I am the rock 
on which he leans for support. Well, I'm a 
patient sort of man, and, as far as Bridiey- 
in-t he-Wold is concerned, I am willing to play 
the part. But a Strong .Man does need an 
occasional holiday, and I made up my mind 
that I would get it. Directly I got here I saw 
that the same old game was going to start, 
Spencer Clay swooped down on me at once, 
I'm as big a draw with the Spencer Clay type 
of maudlin idiot as catnip is with a cat. 
Well, I could stand it at home, but I was 
hanged if I was going to have my holiday 
spoiled. Sol invented Amy. Now do you see?" 

M Certainly I see. And I perceive some- 
thing else which you appear to have over- 
looked. If Amy doesn't exist— or, rather, 
never did exist — she cannot stand between 
you and Miss Campbell. Tell her what you 
have told me, and all will be well," 

He shook his head, 

" You don't know Mary. She would never 
forgive me. You don't know what sympathy, 
what angelic sympathy, she has poured out 
on me about Amy. I can't possibly tell her 
the whole thing was a fraud* It would make 
her feel so foolish." 

At the worst j you lose 

He brightened a little. 
"No, that's true." 

You must risk it. 

he said ; " I've 

half a 

mind to do it." 

" Make it a 


mind," I said, 


you win out." 

I was wrong. 


times I am. 



by Google 

t rou ble wa s , appare n 1 1 y , 
that I " didn't know 
Mary," I am sure 
Grace Bates, Heloise 
Miller, or Clarice Wem 
hly would not have 
acted as she did* Thev 
might have been a 
trifle stunned at first, 
but they would soon 
have come round, and 
all would have been 
joy. Hut with Mary T 
no. What took place 
at the interview I do not know ; but it was 
swiftly perceived by Mar vis Bay that the 
Wilt on- Campbell alliance was off. They no 
longer walked together, golfed together, and 
played tennis on the same side of the net. 
They did not even speak to each other. 

The rest of the story 1 can speak of only 
from hearsay. How it became public property 
I do not know. But there was a confiding 
strain in Wilton, and I imagine h'. 1 confided 
in someone s who confided in someone else. 
At any rate, it is recorded in Marvis Bay's 
unwritten archives, from which I now 
extract it. 

For some days after the breaking-off of 
diplomatic relations Wilton seemed too 
pulverized to resume the offensive. He 
mooned about the links by himself, playing 
a shocking game, and generally comported 
himself like a man who has looked for the 
escape of gas with a lighted candle. In 
affairs of love the strongest men generally 
behave with the most spineless lack of 
resolution. Wilton weighed thirteen stone, 
and his muscles were like steel cables, but he 
Original from 




could not have shown less pluck in this crisis 
in his life if he had been u poached egg. It 
was pitiful to see him* 

Mary, in these days, simply couldn't see 
that he was on the earth, She looked round 
him t above him, and through him but never 
at him. Which was rotten from Wilton's 
point of view, for he had developed a sort of 
wistful expression — I am convinced that he 
practised it before the mirror after his bath — 
wfreh should have worked wonders if only 
he could have got action with it. But she 
avoided his eye as if he had been a creditor 
whom she was trying to slide past on the 

She irritated me. To let the breach widen 
in this way was absurd. Wilton, when I 
said as much to him, said that it was due 
to her wonderful sensitiveness and highly- 
strun^picss, and that it was just one more 
proof to him of the loftiness of her soul and 
her shrinking horror of any form of deceit. 
In fact, he gave me the impression that, 
though the affair was rending his vitals, he 
*ook a mournful pleasure in contemplating 
her perfection. 

Now, one afternoon Wilton took his misery 
for a long walk along the seashore. He 
tramped over the sand for some considerable 
time, and finally pulled up in a little cove* 
backed by high cliffs and dotted with rocks. 
The shore around Mar vis Bay is full of them. 

By this time the afternoon sun had begun 
to be too warm for comfort 5 and it struck 
Wilton that he could be a great deal more 
comfortable nursing his wounded heart with 
his back against one of the rocks than tramp- 
ing any farther over the sand. Most of the 
Mar vis Bay scenery is simply made as a 
setting for the nursing of a wounded heart. 
The cliffs are a sombre indigo, sinister and 
forbidding, and even on the finest days the 
sea has a curious sullen look. You have only 
to get away from the crowd near the bathing 
machines and reach one of these small coves 
and get your back against a rock and your 
pipe well alight, and you can simply wallow 
in misery. I have done it myself, The day 
when Heloise Miller went golfing with Teddy 
Bingley I spent the whole afternoon in one 
of these retreats. It is true that, after twenty 
minutes of contemplating the breakers, I fell 
asleep ; but that is hound to happen. 

It happened to Wilton, For perhaps half 
an hour he brooded, and then his pipe fell 
from his mouth and he dropped off into a 
peaceful slumber. And time went by. 

It was a touch of cramp that finally woke 
turn. He jumped up with a yell, and slood 

there massaging his calf. And he had hardly 
got rid of the pain, when a startled exclamation 
broke the primeval stillness, and there, on 
the other side of the roek, was Mary Campbel,. 
Now, if Wilton had had any inductive 
reasoning in his composition at all, he would 
have been tremendously elated- A girl does 
not creep out to a distant cove at Marvis Bay 
unless she is unhappy, and if Mary Campbell 
was unhappy, she must be unhappy about 
him, and if she was unhappy about him, all 
he had to do was to show a bit of determina- 
tion, and get the whole thing straightened out. 
But Wilton, whom grief had reduced to the 
mental level of an oyster, did not reason 

^p^- ' 

by LiOOglC 





this out, and the siirht of her depm^ed him 
of practical! v all his faculties, including speech. 
He just stood there and yammered. 
Original from 




u Did you follow me here, Mr. Wilton ? ,T 
said Mary, very coldly. 

He shook hishead. Eventually he managed 
to say that he had come there bechance ; and 
had fallen asleep under the rock. As this was 
exactly what Mary had done, she could not 
reasonably complain, So that concluded the 
conversation for the time being. She walked 
away in the direction of Marvis Ray with- 
out another word, and presently he lost 
sight of her round a bend in the cliffs 

His position now was exceedingly 
unpleasant. If she had such a distaste 
for his presence, common decency made 
it imperative that he should give her 
a good start on the homeward journey. 
He could not tramp along a eouple of 
yards in the rear all 
the way. So he had 
to remain where he was 
till she had got well 
off the mark, and as 
he was wearing a thin 
flannel suit, and the 
sun had gone in, and 
a chilly breeze had 
sprung up ; his mental 
troubles were prac- 
tically swamped i n 
physical discomfort. 

Just as he had de- 
cided that he could 
now make a move, he 
was surprised to see 
her coming back, 

Wilton really was 
elated at this. The 
construction he put on 
it was that she had 
relented, and was com- 
ing back to fling her 
arms round his neck, 

He was just bracing himself for the clash, 
when he caught her eye, and it was as 
cold and unfriendly as the sea. 

" I must go round the other way/ 1 she 
said. " The water has come up too far on 
that side." 

And she walked past him to the other end 
of the eo% T e. 

The prospect of another wait ehilled Wilton 
to the marrow, The wind had now grown 
simply freezing, and it came through his 
thin suit and roamed about all over him in 
a manner that caused him exquisite dis- 
comfort. He began to jump to keep himself 

He was leaping heavenwards for the 
hundredth time, when, chancing to glance 

Digitized by GoOglc 


to one side, he perceived Mary again returning. 
By this time his physical misery had so 
completely overcome the softer emotions in 
his bosom that his only feeling now was one 
of thorough irritation. It was not fair, he 
felt, that she should jockey at the start in 
this way and keep him hanging about here 
catching cold. He looked at her when she 
came within range quite hatefully, 

1 £ It is impossible," she said, t( to get round 
that way either/' 

One grows so accustomed in this world to 
everything going smoothly, that the idea of 
actual danger had not yet come home to her. 
From where she stood, in the middle of the 
cove, the sea looked so distant that the fact 
that it had closed the only wavs of getting out 
Original from 



io 5 


was at the moment merely annoymp. She 
f*-It much the same as she would have felt if 
she had arrived at a station to catch a train 
and had l>een told that the train was not 

She therefore seated herself on a rock and 
contemplated the ocean. Wilton walked up 
and down. Neither showed any disposition to 
exercise that gift of speech which places man 
in a class of his own. ahove the ox ; the ass, 
the common wart-hog, and the rest of the 
lower animals. Tt was only when a wave 
swished over the base of her rock that Mary 
broke the silence. 

" The tide is coming *w ? " she faltered. 

She looked at the sea with such alt /red 

feelings that it seemed a different sea 


There was plenty of it to look at. Tt filled 

the entire mouth of the little bay, swirling 

up the sand, and lashing among the rocks 

in a fashion wlvch made one thought 

stand out ahove all the others in her 

mind — the recollection that she could 

not swim, 

Mr, Wilton/' 

Wilton bowed coldly. 

1 Mr, Wilton, the tide — it's 

coming in" 

Wilton glanced superciliously 

at the sea. 

"So," he said, "I per- 

oeive/ 3 

1 But what shall we do ? ' 

Wilton shrugged h i s 

shoulders. He was 

feeling at war with 

Nature and 

hu ma ni t y com b i ned . 

The wind had shifted 

a few points to the 

east, and was ex 

ploring his anatomy 

with the skill of a 

qualified surgeon. 

"We shall 

drown," cried Miss 

Campbell. i( We 

shall drown ! We 

shall drown ! We 

shall drown ! " 

All Wilton's re 

sentment left him. 

Until lie heard that 

pitiful wail, his only 

thoughts had been 

for himself. 

41 Mary/' he said, 

with a wealth of 

love and tenderness in his voice. 

She came to him as a little child comes to 

its mother, and he put his arm around her. 

il Oh t Jack ! " 

" My darling ! ?t 

M I'm frightened ! ,J 

" My precious ! " 

It is in moments of peril, when the chill 

breath of fear blows upon our souls, clearing 

them cf pettiness, that we find ourselves. 

She looked about her wildly. 

14 ( ould we climb the cliffs ? " 

" I doubt it." 

" If we called for help - ,J 

" We could do that." 

Thcv raised their voices, but the only 
Origin a [from 





answer was the crashing of the waves and 
the cry of the sea-birds. The water was 
swirling at their feet, and they drew back to 
the shelter of the cliffs. There they stood in> 
silence j watching. 

" Mary/' .said Wilton, in a low voice, " tell 
me one thing," 

tl Yes, jack ? " 

" Have you forgiven me ? " 

il Forgiven you ! How can you ask at a 
moment like this ? 1 love you with all my 
heart and soul/' 

He kissed her. and a strange look of peace 
came over his face. 

" I am happy," 

" I too." 

A fieck of foam touched her face, and she 

"It was worth it/ 1 he said, quietly 
all misunderstandings are cleared 
away and nothing can come between 
us again, it is a small price to pay — 
unpleasant as it will be when it 

l( Perhaps — perhaps it will not be 
very unpleasant. They say that 
drowning is an easy death." 

" I didn't mean drowning, dearest. 
I meant a cold in the head- 11 

%i A cold in the head ! " 

He nodded gravely, 

(< I don't see how it can he avoided. 
You know how chilly it gets these 
late summer nights. It will be 
a long time before we can get A 

away* 1 ' 

She laughed a shrill, un 
n:,i ural laugh. 

11 You are talking like 
this to keep 
my courage 
up, Viju 
know in your 
heart that 
there is no 
hope for us. 
Nothing can 
save us now* 
The water 
will come 

"Let it 
creep ! 1 1 
can't get past that rock there*" 

u What do you mean ? " 

" It can't* The tide doesn't come up any 
farther. I know, because 1 was caught here 
last week." 

Digitized by GOOQ I C 

For a moment she stood looking at hira 
without speaking* Then she uttered a cry in 
which relief, surprise, and ind'gnation were 
so nicely blended that it would have been 
impossible to say which predominated* 

He was eyeing the approaching waters with 
an indulgent smile, 

" Why didn't you tell me ? " she cried- 
" I did tell you," 

41 You know what I mean. Why did you 
let me go on thinking we were in danger, 
when — -? +t 

" We were in danger. We shall probably 
get pneumonia," 
" Isch ! " 

" There ! You're sneezing already." 
" I am not sneezing, That was an ex- 
clamation of disgust. " 

"' It sounded like a sneeze* It must have 
been, for you've every 
reason to sneeze; but 
why you should utter ex 
da mat ions of disgust I can't 

" I'm disgusted with you— 
with your meanness, You 
deliberately tricked me into 
saying^—* 1 

She was silent. 

1 What you said was that 

you loved me with all your 

heart and soul* You can't 

get away from that, and 

it's good enough for 


' Wdl, it's not true 
anv longer." 

"Yes, it is," said 
Wilton, comfort- 
ably j £i bless 

" It is not. 
Fm going 
right away 
now, and I 
shall never 
speak to you 

She moved 
away from 
him and pre- 
pared to sit 
"There's a jelly-fish just where you Ye 
going to sit/* said Wilton. 
14 I don't care." 

fi It will. I speak from experience, as one 
on whom you have sat so often." 



CO N T E M PL AT 1 ■ I > T I S U OC E A N . 



"I'm not 


11 Have patience, 
I can be funnier 
than that." 

** Please don't 
talk to me. JJ 

41 Very well." 

She seated her 
self with her back 
to him. Dignity 
demanded re 
prisals, so he 
seated himself 
with his back to 

it would have 
been if 

A hand touched 
his shoulder, and 
a voice spoke- 

Ni Jack, dear, it 
— it's awfully cold. 

Don't you think 
if we were to — 
snuggle up- ? " 

He reached out, 
and folded her in 
an embrace which 
w r o u 1 d have 


her ; and the futile ocean raged towards them, 
and the wind grew chillier every minute, 

Time passed. Darkness fell. The little 
hay became a black cavern, dotted here and 
there with white, where the breeze whipped 
the surface of the water* 

Wilton sighed, It was lonely sitting 
there aU by himself. How much jollier 

aroused the professional enthusiasm of 
Hackenschmidt and drawn guttural con- 
gratulations from Zbysco. She creaked, but 
did not crack, beneath the strain. 

li That's much nicer/' she said, softly. 
<( Jack, I don't think the tide's started even 
to think of going down yet." 

" I hope not/ 1 said Wilton. 

by Google 

Original from 

Feats of Strength 

Made E 



In the following article, specially written for " The Strand Magazine/' Mr. W. 
Banquier, better known in the world of physical culture as "Apollo/' describes many 
effective "feats of strength " which can actually be performed, with a little practice, 
by any and every man possessed of an average physique. Mr. Banquier, who has 
been a student of physical culture since his early boyhood, is well known in the 
sporting world as an able exponent of, and writer on, physical culture. He first 
popularized the science of ju^itsu in this country, and, in addition to holding 
records for many genuine feats of strength, is also a capable amateur boxer and 
all-round athlete. Photographs by Hugh Cecil, 

HERE are, I think, no tricks 
quite so impressive to those 
" not in the know " as what 
perhaps ran best be described 
as li feats of strength " tricky 
for the simple reason that the 
very nature of an apparently 
phenomenal display of strength disarms 
suspicion. " Surely, 1 ' says the onlooker, 
" this must he genuine ; for it is obviously 
impossible for a man of average strength 
to assume a power he does 
not possess/' 

As a matter of fact, 
however, an a 'most 
lifelong study 

the performer must be possessed of almost 
supernatural strength, when, as a matter 
of fact , the said feats, tricks — call them 
what you will — can be accomplished in 
any drawing-room by anyone and everyon: 
of average physical development —always 
providing, of course, that he — and, in many 
cases ? one might say she with equal 
truth — has learnt those wrinkles which go 
to make an apparently difficult feat really 
perfectly simple. 

In searching through my repertoire 

of tricks of this description which 

I shall explain in this article, let 

nic here say that I have selected 

those which, in my opinion, are the 

most easily learnt and yet, at the 

same time, 

the most 

pra i.— Tin. push-up exercise. 

of the many and varied forms of 
physical culture has convinced me 
that this is not the case at all, 
for there exist quite a number of 
impressive feats which suggest that 

Digitized by Google 





as shown in the photograph ? is 
a feat which can only be suc- 
cessfully carried out by hard 
practice. Note that the feet are 
some six to nine inches apart. 
By crossing the feet, however 



mysterious to those 
who have not 
studied the l " iHu- 

sionary 'side of feats 
of strength. 

The first illustration 
1) demonstrates 
is culled the 
(i Push- Up 


(Fig, 2), instead of spreading the feet apart, as 
in the first illustration, this 
une-hund push-up can be 
performed hy almost 
anyone after \\\o 
or three tri<s. 
The fat t that 
the feet art 
t h e r e b y 
very con- 

Exercise/ 5 which, 
hy the way, enters 
into all Swedish 
movements j and is 
commonly practised 
by athletes in train* 
ing. but is, of course, 
jM-rformed. as a rule, 
with two hands 
upon the floor in- 
stead of one, for to 
push upon one hand^ 

fig. 6- 






Fir.. 7. 

aiding the performer's 
power of leverage, will 
never he noticed by those 
who have not learnt the 
trick, and, in consequence, 
hv indulging in this simple 
little device the man who 
hfls probably never devoted 
five minutes a day to 



1 io 


strengthening h:s muscular development will 
be able to perforin u feat which, it is well 
known, can. when strictly Tarried out to 
rule, only be successfully accomplished by the 
very strong. * - 

The following little trick — it is^ a trick 
pure and sfrnple -- I . have never known 
fall to create considerable interest among 

fig. 8. 

-TO Ml" 



those who do not know how it is done, and 
after nil, a trick explained is a trick robbed 
of all its illusionary merit. Illustration 3 
shows how even a chid using two fingers 
only could knock the strongest man's clenched 
fists apart. 

Illustration 4 shows precisely why, when 
he tried to knock my fists apart, my partner 
in this little trick entirely failed to move 
them, the reason, of course, being, as shown 
in the photograph t that when I clenched my 
left fist r was grasps in it the thumb of my 
right hand. A lengthy experience has proved 
to me that the simplest tricks are often the 
most effective. Try this on any friend who 
happens to possess more than an average 
opinion of his strength, and you will find 
that you will be wilder and mystify him 

Digitized by C-GOgle 

(an a man of nine-stone weight raise a 
twelve-stone man sitting on a chair, and, 
with one arm, lift chair and man and place 
him on a table ? 

The reply will surely be in the negative 3 
as they say at Westminster, unless he who 
replies may chance to know ths trick explained 
in this article, which shows how an apparently 
impossible feat can be performed after a little 
practice with perfect ease. 

Illustration 5 describes the preliminary 

measures to be taken. First, ask your subject 

to stand sideways across the chair, tin n 

grasping the back of the chair yourself with 

one hand, ask him to sit dawn, and as he 
do* s so place your right shoulder well beneath 
his chest, as shown in illustration 6, at 
the same time pulling the chair forward on 
to the two front legs and hauling it in towards 
you with all the power you may have at your 

By doing this the weight of the man on the 

lir. t|— WHEN Itf THE MANNKR 

chair will be thrown forward on to the top 
of your shoulder, and thus, by taking a quick 
step forward with your right foot, if you are 
lifting with your right arm — by your left 
foot, of course, if vou are lifting with your 
left arm— you will find it quite a simple 



1 1 1 

matter to deposit both man and 
chair (Fig* 7) upon an ordinary-sized 
table. To give the desired effect — 
namely , the appearance of the per- 
formance of a feat of strength — 
this apparently difficult but really 
extremely simple operation should 
be carried out as quickly as possible, 

To raise two twelve - stone men 
(Fig. 8) and then lift and carry them 
(Figi 9) is an equally easy matter — 
if you will follow out the rules here 
explained, First, ask the two nun 
you propose to lift in this manner 
to stand on two chairs and grip 
each other round the neck— the one 
on the left encircling the neck (if his 
partner with the left hand, which 
is gripped by his partner^ left hand, 
and the one on the right encircling 
his tight hand round his partner's 
neck T which is gripped in the same 
way by his partner's right (Fig* 9). 

To raise the men and to perform 
the trick — I know of none more im- 
pressive — all that it is necessary to do 
is to keep the body perfectly straight 
(Fi^. 9), gripping their arms in 
the position shown 
in the illustration, 
when, by bending 
the knees slightly, 
it will be found an 
easy matter to take 
the two men from 
the chairs and 
carry them round 
the room. I 





often think, by the way, that the learned Latin 
scholar who wrote Lf Omne igtwlum pro 
magnified M must have had this trick in mind 
when he propounded this truism, for to those 
who do not know how it is performed it 
represents a feat — to a man of average 
strength— bordering on the impossible. 

More than a little amusement can be derived 

out of the " feat of strength 7 ' shown in 

illustration io t for the simple reason that 

everyone in the audience knows how it is 

performed, with the exception of the subject 

himself. I need scarcely say that if carried 

out as the subject thinks it is being carried 

out — namely, that he is being raised in the 

1 tit by one hand by a man sitting in the chair 

— this feat is actually a physical impossibility. 

To convert the apparently Impossible into 

a possibility it is merely necessary to have 

an accomplice in the audience who quietly 

steps up behind and grips my right hand 

firmly (Illustration 10) as I am about to raise 

the " subject " in the air — he not 

in the know naturally supposing that 

I alone am raising him to this 

position —and all with the might of my 

^ own strong right arm ! 

For two men of almost equal weight 
to fail to push one mans two elbows 






THE \YK:vrs_ 

against the wall is, in itself, suggestive of a 
feat exceedingly difficult of achievement. As a 
matter of fact, it would ht impossible for any 
one man to do this successfully were he not 
to know exactly how r it is done. Armed 
with this knowledge, however, it is sim- 
plicity itself. 

AH that the apparently Herculean exponent 
of strength has to do is to place his body 
perfectly upright against the wall — with 
back of the head, shoulders, and heels touch- 
ing the wall. Then, by plating his hands 
on his waist h as shown in photograph 11. 
and by keeping the elbows well forward, he 
may safely ask any two men to try to push 
his elbows back, with the knowledge that they 
will inevitably fail, for when the "Hercules" 
is in this position they will find it 
i lie hardest task they have ever 
attempted to perform. 

Photograph 12 show r s a very 
similar and yet equally effective 
trick, Owing to the great strength 
of the pectoral muscles, it is u 
physical impossibility for even 
t:n abnormally strung man to 
grasp the two wrists and force 
apart the hands of anyone 
holding them in this position. 
Indeed, it is quite safe to say 
that any man of ordinary 
strength can defy at least one 
man to pull his fingers apart. 
In my own ease, I may 
po'nt out t with due hu- 
mility, that on innumerable 
occasions I have successfully 
defied two men to do the 
same thing, And yet when 
you see the trick done the 
thought inevitably crosses your 
mind that the man resisting must 
be a veritable Samson, 

Photograph 13 shows a " feat of , 1 

Digitized by Google 

strength " which I have never 
known fail to make a hit. As you w"H 
see, it demonstrates how, by placing 
the arm on a table, it is possible to 
raise a comparatively heavy man in 
the air, and hold him there for 
several seconds before the hack of 
the hand can be pressed flat upon 
the table. 

Let me explain at once that a man 
of merely ordinary strength would 
assuredly not be able to support 
a man so heavy as is the entire 
being of the subject whose legs you 
here see in the photograph. At 
the same time, if you will try this little feat 
you will !>e agreeably surprised at the weight 
you will be able to hold, I would mention 
that to prevent the muscles oE the arms from 
possible bruises, it is well to place a couple of 
folded handkerchiefs or some soft support 
beneath the elbow before attempting the feat. 
It would lie a simple matter for me to 
explain many other " feats of strength" 
equally mysterious, but space presses, and, 
in any case. I hope and think that those 
demonstrated in this article will at least 
prove an effective means of enabling readers 
of The Strand Magazine of ordinary 
physique to gain— for the time being, at 
least — a reputation among their friends for 
suddenly having acquired reinforcements of 
strength from * l somewhere in 
(deleted by the Censor) 
which have endued them w r itb 
the power of a twentieth- 
century Hercules, With a liltle 
practice you will find that the 
study of the feats I have des- 
cribed will easily gain for 
you this reputation. 

t3 + — raising TWjWjrfSi Fr ljL fhi* IR WJTH ONK (JANl1 * 




4 ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

ta J l_ — ^ \ * ^ * *■ — ■ — J 

Here is a beautilul new puzzle game, absurdly 
simple to play but quite fascinating. To most people 
it will seem to be practically a game of chance— equal 
for both players— but there are pretty subtleties in it, 
and I will show next month how to win with certainty. 

Place the five cards, i f 2, 3, 4* 5. on th * tabl f ' T ^ ere 
are two players, who play alternately* The first 
plaver places a coin on any card, say the 5, which 
scores 5 ; then (he second player removes the coin to 
another card, sav to the 3, and adds that card, scoring 
8 ; then the first player removes the coin again, say to 
the 1, scoring 9 ; and so on. The player who scores 
37, or forces his opponent to score more than 37, wins, 
Remember, the coin must be removed to a different 
card at each play, 

A MAN owned a large square fenced-in field in which 

were sixteen oak 
trees, as depicted 
in the illustration. 
He wished, for some 
eccentric reason of 
his own, to put up 
five straight fences, 
so that every tree 
should be in a 
separate enclosure, 
How did he do it ? 
just take your pen- 
cil and driiw live 
straight strokes 
across the field, so 
that every tree 
shall be fenced off from all the others. 

My first, a dignitary highly placed, 

Stood up to second some brave deed of war 
That could not fail to third the men he faced ; 

For he of fourth had come back from afar. 
Where, at the battle's front, he had been taught 
How our brave soldiers lived and fifth and fought* 
My first is a well- 
known word, my 
second is that word 
beheaded, my third 
the second word be- 
head ed t and so on, 
like price, rice, ice. 

259.— A 
Can you place 
a word in each of 
the two missing 
spaces so that the 
completed sentence 
may be read along 
the ribbon in the 
direction indicated below, from A to B ? 
VoL L-15. 

Digitized by Li CM 

Five children, with ingenuity worthy of a better 
cause, hit on the idea of getting themselves all weighed 
at an automatic machine at the cost of a single penny. 
Two of them got on the stand at the same time, and one 
of them changed places with another until all the ten 
possible pairs had been weighed. The results recorded 
in pounds were as follows: 114* 115, lift, 119, 121, 
i22 p 123, 125. j 26, and 129. The big brother of one 
of the children succeeded in working out from these 
figures the individual weights of the five* Can the 
reader do it ? 

Solutions to Last MontV» PuxzW 
Let the men move in the following order : 2—1* 
3— i f 4—3, 5—11, 6—4, 7—5* &— 6 i 9—7, 1— I3i 
9—10, 8—9, r— 12, 7— 13* 6 "' 8 ' 5— If 1— "j 4—"- 
3—6, 2—5, 1— 1, 2—2, 3—3. 4—4, 5—5> °— 6 > 7—7. 
g_^ 0—9, and the sergeant will have got to his proper 
place in 28 moves. 

It is clear that A can score 100 while B makes 79 r 
and that B can make 100 while C scores 74* Multiply 
79 by 74, double and divide by 100, and we get 1 16' 52 ; 
so C can score 117 (as there are no fractional points) 
while A makes 200. Therefore A can give C 82 points 
and win* Some would make the answer 83, and the 
difference depends on what view you take of that 
fraction. We can say with certainty that at least S2 
points can safely be given. 


m h sl & 1 

The diagram shows one way in which the pieces 
may be placed. It is not the only way. 


P E T A- L 

Mary was first offered sixteen apples for her shilling, 
which would be at the rate of ntnepence a dozen. The 
two extra apples gave her eighteen for a shilling, wliica 
is at the rate of eight pence a dozen, or one penny a 
dozen less than the first price asked. 

Original from 





Illustratea by W. Heath Robinson* 

NCE upon a time there was a 
man who had three sons. The 
two eldest were both shrewd 
fellows, who had married 
wives, but the youngest was 
at once indolent and stupid, 
so much so that no one ever 
called him anything but the Dolt, or the 
Idle Fellow. 

When the fatheT felt his end approaching he 
divided his wealth between his eldest sons. 
Then he pave to each boy the additional sum 
of a hundred ducats, and died. 

Said the two brothers one day to the Dolt, 
" Give us your hundred ducats. We arc going 
to undertake a great journey, which will have 
the result of making us very wealthy, and 
we will bring you back a red cap, a red belt, 
and some red slippers. While we are away 
you most remain with our wives and do as 
they tell you." 

The Dolt had coveted for a long time the 
things which his brothers now promised him ? 
and he immediately handed over all his money. 
He then settled down at home in the company 
of his sisters-in-law, and t being the most idle 
fellow that ever was seen, spent all his time 
seated or stretched before the stove, never 
getting up except in a temper to answer 
a summons from the women. Indeed, the 
latter, in order to make him obey, were 
obliged to tempt him with hot soup, biscuits, 
or sweet wine f for otherwise he refused to 
do anything at all. 

14 Get up, idle fellow/* they said to him 
one day, *' Go and draw some water." 

The Dolt did not stir. It was freezing as 
hard as possible, and he viewed the prospect 
of such a tiring job with little pleasure, 

' ( Go and do it yourselves/* he replied. 

"If you hurry up. silly boy, we will give 
you some wine and biscuits on your return, 
but If vou don't, we shall complain of you 

Digitized by Li< 

to our husbands when they come back, and 
you will get neither cap, belt, nor slippers/' 

The idle fellow got up, took the pitchers 
and a hatchet, and went down to the river, 
where he broke the ice and filled his buckets. 
Then he stood still for a moment watching 
the stream run by. Suddenly he saw a pike 
which was swimming close to the bank. He 
quickly plunged his arm into the river, 
and without any difficulty caught the 

" Throw me back into the water." said the 
pike, " and I will give vou whatever vou 

" Will you, indeed ? Then I desire that 
whatever I wish may instantly happen/ 5 

** Very good. You have only to say, ' I 
desire, on the word of a pike, that such-and- 
such a thing may happen/ " 

The Dolt agTeed to set the fish at liberty, 
and watched it dive to the bottom of the 

Then he turned towards the tw j o buckets 
of w T ater. 

" I desire, on the word of a pike, that these 
pails may transport themselves to the house 
forthwith.' ' 

The buckets walked away immediately, 
and the idle fellow followed them, with a 
switch in his hand, driving them as if they 
had been geese. In this manner he returned 
home with not a thought in his head except 
to resume his place by the stove, 

" Now then^ idle fellow,' 1 said his sisters-in- 
law a moment later, l( take a hatchet and go 
and cut some wood/* 

*' Not I ! Do it yourselves." 

" If you don't go instantly we shall let 
the stove go out, and you w T ill shiver with 


As soon as they had gone, the Dolt shifted 
slightly, and said, " I desire, on the word 
of a pike ; that the wood may be cut/' 




the hatchet, 
corning out ol 
its cupboard, 
dashed off to 
the shed and 
chopped the 
wood;, and the 
latter came of 
its own accord 
and placed it 
self on the fire. 
All the time 
the idle fellow 
was stretched 
comfortably on 
his bench close 
to the stove, 
sleeping peace 

Some days later the two 
women again called out to the 
Dolt ;— 

" There is no more wood in 
the house. Go and find some in 
the forest." 

This time the lad made no 
protest, being gratified by the 
thought that all the village would 
now be witness of what he could 

do. He took some biscuits and a 
bottle of wine, and went to look 
for the sledge. There was no horse 
to harness to it, but he did not 
worry over such a trifle as that. 
Taking a long whip off its hook, he 
cried out : — 

u 1 desire, on the word of a 
pike, that this sledge shall go ol 
its own accord." 

No sooner said than done. In 
this vehicle the Dolt passed through 
a large village } and the people ran 
from every side to watch the 
progress of the sledge that went 
without a horse. In ever-increasing 
numbers they crowded round the 
strange carriage t plying the lad 
with questions, and seeking to stop 
him. Presently they tried his 
patience too far, and in order to 
escape their curiosity he crowded 
on the pace, terrifying the women 


by Google 






• SI 


and children, upsetting the dogs, and setting 
everybody in commotion. 

When he reached the forest he took all the 
wood he wanted, and returned hy the same 
ruad to get home. But in going through the 
village where, some hours earlier, he had been 
the cause of so much tumult, he was seized 
by the peasants, who stopped his sledge and 
took him into custody. He seemed in for 
an awkward time, when an idea struck him. 

* s 1 desire, on the word of a pike, that the 
faggots which are on my sledge shall give 
a drubbing to all these folk/' 

Instantly the sticks fell upon the backs, 
the shoulders, and the legs of the peasants, 
who ran away aghast f with howls of terror. 

The idle fellow took the road again, laughing 
heartily, and a little while later got down 
before his own door. 

Rumour of his exploits eventually reached 
the ears of the king, who was curious to become 
acquainted with the lad, and bade one of 
his captains bring the worker of miracles 
before him; The captain repaired to the 
house of the Dolt's sisters-in-law, and 
explained to them the purpose for which 
he had come. 

by LiOOgle 

" Here t idle fellow,' cried the two women, 
u come out of your snug corner and be off 
to the kings court. Don your Sunday clothes 
quickly, and be off without delay. " 

" What for ? Have I not here all that I 
require ? I shall not disturb myself/ 7 

The king's envoy, furious with rage, boxed 
the lad's ears soundly. But the Dolt merely 
murmured, l< I desire, on the word of a pike, 
that the broom shall give this captain a good 
dressing down/ 7 

Instantly the broom fell upon the unhappy 
man, and struck him heavy blows just as he 
was gaining the shelter of his carriage. He 
hurried to the king with the tale of his mishap 
and the refusal which he had met with, 

The king dispatched a new ambassador to 
the Dolt. This one t being shrewder, made 
his inquiries in a way that flattered the lad. 
As soon as he learnt the situation he came 
ceremoniously before the boy. and bowing 
low to him* said, t£ Condescend to follow mc 
to the court, for the king desires to bestow 
upon you a red cap. a red belt, and some red 

Said the idle fellow, highly delighted, to 
the envoy, *' I will go this moment. Get on 




your way at once, for I shall arrive before you." 
Then he added, in a lower voice, t( I desire, 
on the word of a pike, that the stove by which 
I am seated shall carry me to the king's court/' 

As he uttered the words the stove went cold, 
placed itself between the idle fellow's legs, and 
dashed off along the road. 

Comfortably seated on this strange vehicle , the 
lad munched biscuits and drank a bottle of good 
wine, until the stove stopped before the steps of 
the palace- The king and his courtiers chanced 
to be upon a balcony, and they were filled 
with amazement at this extraordinary spectacle. 

" Who are you/' cried the king, " and what do 
you want ? " 

M I am the Dolt, or the Idle Fellow, whichever 
you please, and I have come to claim my 
slippers, my cap, and my belt," 

As he spoke he raised his head and perceived 
at a window the king's daughter, who was of 
dazzling beauty. 

" I desire, on the word of a pike," he whispered, 
" that this charming princess may become my 
betrothed," Then he went off as he had come, 








knowing that what he wished would be ful and handed over to a powerful magician, who 
filled, without any further trouble on his part. had been sought out by the king s orders. 

Sure enough the king s daughter suddenly 
evinced a great passion for this man whom 
she had scarcely seen. She threw herself at 
her father's feet\ begging him to give her the 
Dolt for a husband. The monarch did his 
best to reason with her. pointing out that the 
object of her affection was merely a stupid 
and clumsy peasant. Rut all to no avail ; 
day by day the young girl fell more deeply in 
love* The king, in despair^ caused the Dolt 
to be arrested. He was brought to the palace 

The magician shut him up in a huge crystal 
tun, where he promptly went to sleep, but 
the king's daughter came upon the scene just 
at thtt moment, and implored her father to 
allow her to .share the fate of the man whom 
she loved. Incensed by her insistence, the 
king gave orders that his daughter should be 
shut up with the Dolt, so that he might never 
hear another word from her. This was done, 
and the tun Hew up into the air. 

After a while the princess woke the idle 
fellow, and asked if he could extricate them 
from their plight, 

" Of course I can/' he answered. +l That 

is mere child's play to me, I 

desire, on the word 

of a pike, that 

we find our- 
selves this very 
moment in a beautiful castle. 5 ' 

The tun gently landed the two aerial 
travellers, and all they had to do was to walk 
at once into a magnificent marble palace, 
which had windows of crystal, an amber roof \ 
and furniture fashioned of rare woods- The 
palace was set in the midst oi an island linked 
with the mainland by a silver bridge, which 
rested on golden arches encrusted with dia* 
monds. The princess begged her betrothed to 

by Google 


Original from 



go with her to the court of her father the king, 
in order to ask his pardon and beg his blessing. 

It occurred then to the Dolt, whom love 
had begun to inspire with some degree of 
spirit, that he, the stupidest man in all the 
kingdom, was not really worthy to become 
the husband oi this beautiful princess. Under 
his breath he uttered his final wish, (1 I desire, 
on the word of a pike, that I may be endowed 
with wit and wisdom." 

On the instant the clouds were dispelled 
from his mind, and he became as brilliant in 
wit as formerly he had been stupid, and as 
energetic as he had been idle, He took his 
betrothed by the hand and went with her, 
as she desired, to the king's court. There 
the couple threw themselves at the monarch's 
feet, and the young man brought such sbll 
to the pleading of his cause that the king 
bestowed upon him his daughter's hand, 

A splendid wedding was soleiniraed, 
and the young couple lived happily in 

their magnificent castle until the 
day when the king named his 
son-in-law as his heir, in recog- 
nition of his sterling 


Digitized by Google 

Original from 


\Wt shall be glad to receive Contributions to this stdi&n 7 and to pay for stick as are accepted,] 


OWING to fear of cats , birds could not be induced 
to come near the bouse to be fed, so tills cat- 
proof feeding-tray was set up at some distance 
and kept supplied with crumby fat, and other dainties, 
A lar^e number of birds — robins and finches in par- 

ticular — partook of the hospitality, and in order to listen 
to them a telephone transmitter, with a weather- 
proof cover, was Jilted to the tray and wires run up 
to the house, a contrivance which admirably served 
its purpose.— Mr. E, O. Cat ford, Platte Fougere 
L ig h t h ousc , G u cr n sey * 


THIS miniature chessboard an*I set of chessmen, 
which tire continued within the case of an 
ordinary-si* ed watch, I made some years a %t\ with the 
idea of using them to set up problems or register an 
unfinished game, and being a chess enthusiast, and 
a mechanic, it afforded me some pleasure to make and 

possess Rtniicthiiiii which 1 think may be considered 
ra'licr unique. It was made in my spare time during 
the evening, and was somewhat of a relaxation from 
mending watches. The board is mark of separate 
squares of metal, and gave me more trouble than the 




pieces themselves, which, with the squares, are half 
of them brass and half nickel silver, the brass pieces 
being oxidized and the others silvered to contrast, 
Tlu're is an indicator in the back of the case to denote 
whether Black or White is to play, together with a 
si nail pair of tweezers to handle the pieces. Ihv 
photographs show the actual size of the board and 
men,— Mr* A, J. Bourlct, 18, The Market, Palmer's 
Green. London, N. 


A PRIVATE is, strictly speaking, supposed, when 
he meets an officer, to commence the salute 
three paces before he meets him and to remain at 
the salute for three paces after he has passed him. 
Therefore, for how many paces altogether would he 
remain at the salute, supposing both to be walking 
at the same rate ?■ Mr. Norman R Proctor, 13, 
Rust hall Avenue, lied ford Park, W. 

Original from 

C^f\r%ct\i* Original from 



(5« pa V '*44 





AUGUST, 1915. iNo. 296. 

Vol 1 

G A L W A Y 


Illustrated ty Emile Verpilleux. 


NEVER met you before, 
did I, Keenan ? " The 
politician looked sharply 
at the man standing before 
his desk, 

il No ; bat I come with 
good credentials; Pm sent 
up from the Street. May I see you alone ? fJ 

Keenan glanced at the servant. The weasel 
eyes of the political boss sank deeper beneath 
his fat forehead, 

i Katy, I'm having business with this 
gentleman ; you can go to bed* Now, 
Keenan, what can 1 do for you ? '' 

M I was told to hand you this." From a 
pocket Keenan drew a bundle of yellow bills 
and laid them on the flat -topped desk, " There 
are my credentials — one hundred one-thou- 
sand'dollar bills, The ' Big Train ' appreciates 
what you did in the matter of that franchise." 

<( It wasn't none too easy." The mask o£ 
the politician changed in no line as his eyes 
measured the pile of bills. ( * The public 
knows too much these days. The board gave 
troubk% but my boys all come across, and 
pulled two of the opposition, enough for the 
majority. These reform aldermen ain't got 
much political sense." 

u Will you count the bills, plca&e ? And 
after, if you will sign this receipt, my business 
will be finished." 

The politician looked sharply at Keenan. 

lL Receipt ! " — his voice became hard as 
tool steel— " I don't sign no receipts. They'll 
be after sending cheques next," 

Vol. 1.— 16. 

" This receipt is non-committaL" Keenan 's 
mouth drew to a twisted smile, u It's wanted 
as a check on me ; the ' BLg Train's ■ secretary 
will destroy it to-morrow/' He laid upon 
the desk a type-written paper ;— - 

Received from Ernest Keenan 
1 00 .ooo shares Gold- Frog Mining, 

The politician hesitated., grunted, and 
finally scrawled one word across the paper. 
It satisfied Keenan, That name before now 
had made or unmade more than one man. 

The politician reached for the bills. Without 
emotion of any kind he began dealing them 
off one by one ; deliberately, silently, he 
counted the pile to its end, the watching eyes 
of Kecnan growing the while brighter and 
smaller and colder. Near the clumsily-moving 
hands lay a writing-pad. Keenan was vaguely 
aware that there were words scrawled across 
the middle of t the yellow page ; otherwise his 
mind seemed frozen in concentration as he 
watched the fortune told off. 

" It's O.K. ? Keenan ; F1I put it away and 
let you out/' The politician rose heavily, 
and moved towards the safe. His laboured 
breathing, the ticking of the desk clock, made 
the only sounds in the silent room. 

As the boss reached the safe Keenan's lips 
had drawn to a white streak across his face. 

The lever knob clicked sharply in the 
stillness ; the safe door swung open. Lowering 
himself to one knee, the politician unlocked 
the metal door to an inner compartment, 
Keenan remained standing at the desk, every 
line of his w figure relaxed his. eyes alert. As 

: his fijiure 




the smaller door answered to th? key, Keenan J s 
body jerked tease ; one noiseless glide carried 
him to the safe* He towered above the 
kneeling politician. His right hand rose 
and descended with a flashing stroke ; the 
eighteen inches of pipe it held landed at the 
base of the brain, just above the upper roll 
of fat on the politician's neck. The force of 
the blow made the soft lead wrap itself about 
the close -cropped head, Keenan felt the 
skull crush in ; the pipe sank almost out of 
sight in the folds of flesh. The hip frame of 
the politician stiffened ; his teeth closed with 
an audible click ; then all the man became 
limp, Kecnan caught the swaying body and 
lowered it, without a sound, to the floor, 

Then Kecnan worked swiftly. Without a 
tremor he took from the dead hand the 
package of bills. Into the fingers he thrust a 
bit of torn cloth, with a button attached — 
cloth of a loud pattern such as the well-dressed 
Mr, Keenan never wore. Taking a firm hold 
on his victims collar, he ^avc it a sudden 
wrench, tearing the shirt oj)en. Using all his 
strength, he raised the heavy body from the 
floor, and brought its head smashing down 
against the steel edges of the safe door. Thus 
did Keenan manufacture the evidences of 
violence which his care fully- planned crime 

In the small compartment of the safe there 
was also money. To reach this, Keenan was 
forced to stand astride the body, u About 
four thousand three hundred/' he counted 
rapidly — *' chicken-feed to me now/' and 
laughed softly above the battered dead face 
lying between his feet. 

Keenan went to the desk. The clock, 
part of an elaborate inkstand, showed twenty- 
two minutes past eleven. He slipped it from 
its casing, moved the hands to eleven-fifty- 
seven, gave the clock a sudden, dropping jerk, 
listened, and, being certain of its silence, 
replaced it in its frame. He laid the ink- 
stand, with the clock face up, on the floor ten 
feet from the desk, spilling the ink in a trail, 
careful that none of it should slain his gloved 
hands. The few articles on the desk he 
dropped noiselessly to the floor. As he lifted 
the writing-pad he was again vaguely aware 
of the words written across its yellow page. 
The desk w^as laid on its side, and a chair 

Pausing at the door, Keenan looked 
steadily into the staring eyes of the dead mass 
by the safe. He turned and. leaving the 
light shining full upon the ghastly face, closed 
the door, and went swiftly down the stairs- 

He passed through the inner door to the 


vestibule, and closed the outer doors, shutting 
himself in the narrow space. From the hall 
a dim glow filtered through the side- lights. 
Keenan pressed a piece of putty against one 
of the small panes, then with a glass-cutter he 
drew a circle about the putty; he gave the 
glass a sharp blow, and the part within the 
circle came loose. Before laying the piece 
of glass on the floor, Keenan took from his 
pocket the plaster cast of a human thumb 
and pressed it lightly into the putty. 

His work finished, Keenan turned to go. 
With hand on the outer door he paused. 
"' Better make sure of the distance/' he 
thought. Returning, he passed his hand 
through the hole in the glass, and assured 
himself that he could reach the latch on the 
inside. He had cut to a nicety ; the opening 
was just large enough to allow his hand and 
arm to pass through with some squeezing. 

Boldly he stepped through the door, 
descended to the sidewalk of East Fifty-fifth 
Street, and turned and walked without haste 
towards Lex'ngton Avenue. The street was 
all but deserted, A car passed up the avenue 
just before he reached the corner. A police- 
man was on fixed post at the Fifty-sixth 
Street crossing. Keenan walked rapidly 
south. At the Fifty-fourth Street corner 
with a quick jerk he shied the lead pipe 
through an opening of the storm-sewen Two 
short blocks, and into the next sewer-opening 
went the glass-cutter and the plaster thumb. 

A passing taxi landed Keenan at his 
bachelor quarters in West Forty-iourth Street 
at eleven forty- five by his watch. 

The lift was up, and the one boy on duty 
with it. Keenan stepped into the attendant's 
alcove, and, taking the c heap dock from the 
telephone switch-board, moved the minute 
hand back to eleven thirty-four. The lift 
descended. With a nod to the boy in charge 
Keenan stepped in. 

lb Oh, by the way, George, what time is it ? 
My watch has stopped." 

George sped to the alcove, to return with, 
" Twenty- five minutes to twelve, Mr. Keenan, 7 i 

Ai Twenty-five minutes to twelve," repeated 
Keenan, slowly, distinctly ; " I didn't know 
it was so late,'' 

There is in New York u certain class of 
men who, as a rule, have one- room offices in 
the lower part of the town and no family 
apparent in any part of the world. These 
gentlemen, well -dressed, may be seen in the 
lobbies of the large hotels, at " first nights/ 1 
and at other public places where those who 
pay arc Ori^flBHVorAs they stroll the 






by Google 

Original from 



crowded walks of life they bow to and their 
bow is returned by men who count for some- 
thing in the community. But seldom are 
they known by the women-folk belonging to 
these men. In its way this small group fills 
a useful place in affairs. In a government 
of and by the people there are persons who 
find ways of blocking the wheels of enterprise 
set in motion by the ih men who count/' To 
lubricate these cogged wheels specialists are 
employed that the " men who count " may 
not soil their hands by contact with the 

Of these Mr, Ernest Keenan was the master 
oiler. Wall Street 3 Broadway, and Fifth 
Avenue had known him these fifteen years. 
Each year found him a trifle more bitter and 
much more lonely, for he was utterly without 
friends* This man, who had wrapped eighteen 
indies of lend pipe about the neck of the 
political boss, was neither by taste nor instinct 
a criminal. His one driving ambition, which 
during the years had grown to a passionate 
longing, was to gain a footing of equality with 
the men among whom he was thrown. The 
frigid imitation of friendship received from who employed him cut into his pride 
with a razor edge. To cease being the go- 
between, to abandon for ever his shady 
occupation, had become all but a mania with 
him. Through money only, according to 
Ernest Keenan's way of thinking, could his 
end be gained. To-night the chance had 
come, and though over the gate to his highway 
was written (t Murder, 1 ' with cold deliberation 
he had set his hand to the task of opening 
that gate. It should not Lie done clumsily ; 
there must not be the smallest sound from 
the hinge ; not one drop from the word 
written in blood above that gate must smear 
his well-kept person. And lie had succeeded. 

Looking with steady eyes at himself in the 
glass, he thought : li I'd go through it all 
again. The end is worth the risk/* He 
began to remove his coat. N Murder will 
out ? " Keenan smiled. " Not in this case. 
Just one thing would have queered the game 
— if that fool secretary had taken the number 
of those bills. But he didn't ; I asked him 
myself. But he didn't. No. this is the one 
time when a really big killing will go 

He reached to hang up his coat, and stopped, 
his arm outstretched, rigid* His face turned 
white, his eyes stared at his shirt -cuff. It 
was not closed ; one button of the link was 
gone. Slowly his extended eyeballs con- 
tracted, slowly the colour came again to his 

Digitized by Lit 

" Well, even if I dropped it in the room, 
even if it is clutched now in his dead hand, 
what's the odds ? It's the wrong half." 
Keenan actually laughed as he took the 
remaining button from his sleeve. It was 
an oval of gold, engraved with the letters 
E. K. With steady fingers he took the other 
link, with its two buttons, from the left 
sleeve ; on one was engraved E, K., on the 
other C, A. 

" Poor Clara ! " He looked at the links 
regretfully. " Safe— I must play safe/' 

A few minutes later Keenan was sleeping as 
peacefully as a kitten. 

At breakfast Keenan searched the papers. 
They contained no account of the unpleasant 
incident of the night before. Half an hour 
later, as he left the subway at Wall Street, he 
listened, but with no uneasiness, for the cries 
of " Extra >! which he knew would soon be 
called through all the streets of the town, 
But as yet only the usual city noises jangled 
the air, 

A minute's brisk walk brought Keenan to 
the building which housed the business 
operations of the most powerful traction 
magnate of the Western world. He was 
immediately shown into the office of the great 
man's secretary, surrendered his receipt, and 
received for his services a bill of large 

As he walked the short half-mile to his 
own office there came to Keenan a feeling 
almost of elation, " It is far easier than I 
had imagined/' he thought. He took a deep 
breath of Octol>er air. " I haven't the 
faintest trace of fear. In a few moments the 
news will burst, but I am ready ; I have 
discounted every possible emergency," 

Five minutes later Keenan was comfortably 
seated at his office window overlooking City 
Hall Park. High above Newspaper Row the 
Tribune clock pointed to fifteen minutes after 
ten. As yet nothing unusual was on foot in 
the street below. 

" It comes slowly," thought Keenan, 
" Either the servant overslept or the police 
are keeping it back from the papers," 

The minute-hand of the clock crawled to 
twenty, then to twenty-five minutes past the 
hour* At last there was action, Motor- 
trucks hurriedly loaded with papers began to 
move ; following the trucks came an avalanche 
of boys and men, all with papers under their 
arms ; in another instant the storm hiid 

" Extra ! Extra ! Murder ! All about the 
big murder.ffqj n ^if rt <rrves rode high on the 




crisp autumn air, to fill the whole world with 
the ugly word. 

Keenan rose leisurely, stepped into the 
hallway, and rang for the, lift. 

** Charlie, get me one of those extras," he 
said, in his usual voice. ll I suppose it 7 s 
another one of their fakes." 

The first accounts were meagre ; the head* 
lines, giving the name of the politician, 
followed by the one word 4< Murdered ," told 
all the actual news that the papers had. This 
was followed by a few r paragraphs describing 
how the body had been found that morning 
between eight and nine o'clock by the maid t 
who had heard no unusual sounds in the house 
during the night. One paper hazarded the 
statement that some disgruntled henchman 
of the boss had killed him* Another suggested 
robbery as the motive. The early editions 
had neither material nor time for more than 
the first bare fact of the crime. 

Keenan took down the receiver of his 
telephone. Among his acquaintances was an 
assistant district attorney, 

b * Halloa, Harrison. This is Ernest Keenan. 
Have you heard of the murder ? The extra 
is just out. Well, if lm not mistaken, I can 
give some tiling to the police ; but I don't 
know anyone in the department. Can you 
go around there with me ? All right ; 1*11 
come over." 

A few minutes later, accompanied by the 
assistant district attorney, Keenan passed 
through the grim doors of police headquarters 
without the tightening of a single nerve. They 
were shown into the office of the commissioner 

Keenan acknowledged introductions to the 
commissioner, his secretary, the chief of 
police, and the chief of the detective bureau, 

The commissioner opened in a friendly 
manner the proceedings which Keenan had 
staged fnr himself. 

<k Mr. Harrison 'phoned us that you think 
you have some information regarding the 
murder of last night that may be of use to us. 
What have you to telh Mr. Keenan ? " 

Though Keenan was not instinctively a 
criminal, he possessed the most efficient tool 
with which the kit of a professional swindler 
can be furnished — a pair of clear brown eyes 
that he could direct straight into the eyes of 
any man or woman on earth. 

n 1 was with the boss at a late hour last 
night. In fact, except for the murderer, I 
must have been the last person to sec him 
alive. At the beginning of our interview he 
sent the servant to bed, and when our business 
was finished, he let me out himself/' 

Digitized by L,OOglC 

" What time was this ? " asked the 

11 Let's see/' replied Keenan, looking 
straight at his questioner. (i My appointment 
was for eleven o'clock, and, if anything, I got 
to the house a minute or two before eleven. 
Our interview lasted not more than fifteen 
or twenty minutes. ? * He turned with a frank 
smile to the commissioner. " You may know, 
sir, that the boss was not given to long 

" Can you fix the time of your leaving any 
more definitely than that ? ?? asked the 

Again Keenan looked full at him, M No, 
I don't believe I can. Yes, we might work 
back to it, for I remember now that I reached 
my rooms in West Forty-fourth Street at 
twenty-five minutes to twelve." 

Further questions brought out in detail 
the lift-boy incident, to Keen an 's entire 

" His name ? '* 

George was the only name Keenan had for 

An attendant left the room, to return after 
a brief space. 

After leaving the house, Keenan con- 
tinued, lie had walked for two, not more than 
three blocks when he had caught a passing 
taxi, and was landed at his door, as stated, 
at about eleven thirty-five. 

A hasty calculation of time and distance 
travelled showed that his arrival checked 
with the time of his leaving the boss's house, 
which was Fixed at eleven- twenty. 

" Mr, Keenan " — the detective spoke with 
more haste — u why did you go to see the 
murdered man at eleven o'clock at night ? " 

" That," said Keenan, with just the right 
hesitation, "is rather a business secret ; but 
1 think the circumstances are so grave that I 
am justified in telling you,'* He turned a 
frank gaze full on the commissioner. " I 
went to pay the boss a large sum of money," 

11 In cash ? " asked the detective. 

" Yes t in bills/' 

The telephone sounded. 

" For you, Mr* Commissioner/' said the 

" I'm busy and can't be disturbed/ 7 

" But, Mr. Commissioner, this is a call from 
the office of the * Big Train,' " 

The commissioner took the telephone, 

** This is the commissioner. Yes, there is 
a Mr. Keenan here ; but please be brief. We 
are in the midst of an important conference.' 1 

" Yes, I am Mr. Keenan. Yes, I have 
told them. No, not what it was for. I 






suppose so ; that is, if a representative of 
your office will come up here. Otherwise I 
feel it my duty to tell everything I know. 
What, the old man himself?'" There was 
surprise in Keenan's voice* " Well, that 
will undoubtedly be best, I'll tell the 
commissioner, Good-bye." 

'* Mr. Commissioner/' said Kecnan, " I'd 
rather you wouldn't ask me further about 
the money just now, The ' Big Train ' is 
coming here to sec you himself/' There was 
a perceptible stir in the room. 

" Mr. Keenan," resumed the detective, 
" to get back to the subject, it was twenty-five 
minutes past twelve when you reached 
home ? " 

fct No/' replied Keenan, innocently ; 4i it 
was twenty- five minutes before twelve when I 
was inside the lift." 

*' Oh f yes ; my mistake. Now, please tell 
us in detail just what happened after you 
reached the house— the bosses house, T mean." 

tb i was let in by a maid, who took me up 
to the boss's room. I told him that I had 

Digitized by G< 

been sent up on confidential business. He 
sent the girl to bed." 

(< What time was that ? " 

" About eleven ; possibly two or three 
minutes after," 

44 Was there a clock in the room ? '* 

hi If there was, I didn t notice it." 

u Did you go behind the boss's desk— to 
the side on which he was sitting ? >J 

*' No ; all the time I was in the room, 
which wasn't long, I was in front of the desk/* 

" Yes ; go ahead/' 

*' Well, I said I had some money for him, 
and asked him to count it, which he d'd, and 
it took him several minutes. We talked for 
some time longer, and then he came down- 
stairs with me. and let me out the front door/' 

" Bid he close the doors of the vestibule ? 51 

41 No, I don't believe he did. No ; I 
remember now that he closed the inner door 
behind mc before I had quite left the 

" Sure of that, because it's important ? M 

u Yes ; positive." 





" Now, Mr, Keenan, was there a safe in 
the room ? ?I 

M Yes, 1 noticed one/' 

11 Was the safe door open during your 
conversation ? " 

" No ; closed/' 

" Did the boss put the money in the safe 
before he went downstairs with you ? J7 

" No ; he left it on his desk/' 

" Did you notice anyone in the street when 
you left the house ? Jt 

" No ; there was no one on the block. 
But now, when T come to think over every 
detail, I do remember hearing footsteps 
behind me when I turned towards Lexington 
Avenue. But I did not look back/' 

During these questions Keenan maintained 
an admirable demeanour, Entirely at his 
ease, his bearing was that of one wholly 
anxious to give what aid he could. His eyes 
were turned innocently now on one official, 
now straight at another. The man gloried 
in his acting and took a keen enjoyment in 
the game. The big trump he wished to plav 

Vol L-17. 

was finally dealt to him ; he received it as a 
past-master of poker might take from the 
table a fourth ace to add to the three already 
held. The chief of detectives dealt him this 
card with some hesitation. 

" Mr. Keenan, there is a little formality we 
should like to go through— would you mind 
— understand, it will not be kept as a per- 
manent record— but would you mind letting 
us have your finger-print ? " 

Keenan raised his eyebrows to just the 
right angle of surprise. A shade of hurt 
reluctance passed across his face. 

u We can take them here/ 1 the detective 
added ; " you will not be at all incon- 

Then, with a smile of perfect good nature, 
Keenan answered : — 

" Certainly , gentlemen ; I have no 

As the imprints were being taken, a mild 
commotion was heard in the hallway ; quick 
steps were approaching, then u loud voice, 

u You ne@i}^n^fiQOVTre im\ Thu com- 




missioner knows who I am, and that I am 
coming by appointment/' it said. 

The door opened, and through it, followed 
by his secretary, strode the " Jiig Train/' the 
traction king* Everyone in the room rose 
at his coming, 

11 How do you do, Commissioner/' he 
thundered, his eyebrows snapping together 
above his cold blue eyes* He nodded to the 
two officers, and shot Keenan through with 
one glance. 

il A most horrible affair ! " ? he continued. 
" I hear that Keenan has told you that he 
was sent by my office to the boss last night 
with a considerable sum of money. Well, 
that's true. But that must not come out. 
This money had nothing to do with the 
murder. Nothing, do you hear ? It was 
money owed for services rendered — an entire! y 
regular business proposition. No word of 
this must reach the papers." He glanced 
about the room, fixing for an instant every- 
one present* 

" But, sir ; suppose someone knew of this 
large sum, and, let us say, followed Mr. 
Keenan to the house, gained admittance 
shortly after he left, killed, and robbed the 
boss ? In fact, sir, that at present is our 

" Fiddlesticks ! " roared the big man. 
'* Except Keenan, my secretary, and myself, 
no one knew, Keenan I have known for 
years ; my secretary spent the night at my 
house. It was common talk that the boss 
kept large sums about him ; any ward 
politician will tell you that on the day before 
elections — * dough day/ 1 believe they call it 
—he would have as much cash in his house 
as a national bank usually carries. This 
thing was done by a -professional cracksman. 
I wonder it was not done sooner/' The man 
stormed on t using the method which had 
won for him the name " Big Train/' He 
ran over everything and everybody that 
stood in his way. Whole boards of directors 
had before now been ground to submission 
beneath the ruthless wheels of his desire. 

" Now, Mr, Commissioner, here's the 
point/' he continued. Si If news of this 
payment gets out, it will cause no end of 
useless trouble, particularly at this time, 
when every politician at Washington is 
engaged in one investigation after another. 
If it would lead to the detection of the 
murderer I would be the first to come for- 
ward with the information ; but it can't help 
in the smallest degree, so I trust you will 
respect my confidence, and see that no word of 
this money gets beyond the door of this room." 

There was no possible opposition to bring 
against the man j his force rolled from him 
like a tidal wave, submerging completely 
every other personality in the room. 

His glance swept the room again, and every 
head bowed in assent. 

" Very well/' he said, in a voice of finality, 
" we will consider that part of the affair closed- 
Good day, gentlemen/' He wheeled, and 
stalked from the room, to the visible relief of 
everyone. At the door the detective checked 
the secretary, 

vi Did you take the numbers of those bills ? " 

" No," whispered the secretary, and sped 
out in the wake of the great man. 

This visit was an unexpected bolt of safety 
to the closed gate of Keenan's highway. The 
power of money, the power of this man, none 
knew better than he. It was certain now 
that the department would keep from the 
papers all mention of the transaction, and the 
name of the agent as well, 

M Gentlemen,'' said Keenan, when the 
atmosphere had cleared, " is there any more 
1 can do for you ? ! ' 

" No ; but wait a moment longer," 
answered the detective, 4 ' You will: be glad 
to know that we are checking every detail of 
your story so that we shall not have to 
trouble you again," The attendant left the 
room, to return with a memorandum. The 
detective read : — 

" Finger-prints 0,K. No resemblance." 

Keenan *s hours of delicate labour with 
plaster and engraver's tool had come to a 
useful result. 

41 Jim is back, sir/' said the attendant to 
his chief. 

* ( Tell him to come in. Well, Jim, see your 
party ? " 

'* Yes, sir. Shall I speak before him ? " 
Jim nodded towards Keenan. i{ Well, sir, 
the boy says he remembers Mr. Keenan 
coming in last night, and asking what time it 
was, and he went to the clock and sa v that it 
was twenty- five minutes to twelve." 

14 Mr. Keenan " — it was the detective who 
spoke— kl we are glad to say that every part 
of your story is confirmed ; there is not the 
slightest trace oi suspicion connected with 
your actions last night. We have pretty well 
fixed the time of the murder, and know that 
the job was done after you got back home/* 

Late in the afternoon Keenan returned to 
his apartments ; he dressed always for dinner. 
As he opened a drawer he stopped short. 
Only a precise man would have noticed any- 
thing amiss, lie smiled grimly at what he 
saw, and hnjan a deliberate TOund of the 




rooms ; one after another every drawer and 
closet was opened. Keenan's smile broadened. 
He telephoned for the manager. 

tl Mr. Nielsen, was anyone in my rooms 
to-day ? " 

11 Why, no ? Mr, Keenan ; certainly not." 

" Mr, Nielsen, how many men searched 
this room to-day ? " 

" Why, sir t what— " 

" How many men, Nielsen, searched this 
room to-day ? " Ktenan J s words fell like 
icicles on frozen ground, 

Nielsen withered, 

" Two, sir. But they showed their badges, 
and 7 ' 

" What time was this ? » 

li About noon, sir." 

" The same two who questioned George ? " 

H Yea, sir. I hope, Mr, Keenan " 

" You did exactly rJght, Mr. Nielsen. 
Thank you. That's all,* 1 

The manager's information pleased Keenan. 
Going to the bath-room he dropped to his 
knees, readied into a far corner, and with a 
knife -blade pried one of the tiles from the wall. 
In the partition block behind the tile a hole had 
been broken. In the hollow lay the pile of 
* yellow bills, and on them rested the cuff-links* 

Into Keenan \s make-up Nature had built 
one of those unaccountable contrasts so often 
planned for our amazement. Within this 
man, whose every aim was towards self- 
gratification j whose view of right ended at 
the horizon of personal advancement, whose 
heart was made from a combination of steel 
filings and flint chips, lay hidden one slender 
vein of softness. In years gone by there had 
been a woman, the only being in all the world 
who had ever loved him ; the memory of her 
was the one thing for which Keenan held 
reverence. It was of her he was thinking as 
he looked at the whole and broken link, all 
that now remained ot her last gift to him, 

** Clara,' ' he said. ! * not the slightest trace 
of suspicion.'* For a few r moments he stood 
silent- Then he spoke again, almost softly, 
" No," he said, ilk I don t think I can throw 
these away." 

From below in the street there floated to 
him the faint cry : u Extra ! Extra ! All 
about the big murder ! ,: 

Keenan smiled a confident* satisfied smile 
and went out in search oi light and life and a 
good dinner. 

It was Christmas Eve, and Keenan was at 
Monte (itrlo, The gaiety, the luxury, the 
case with which acquaintances are made 
endeared the gambling principality to a 

person of his attainments, Here^ for six 
weeks, he had lived in full measure, and this 
added to his satisfaction— here he was able, 
with safety, to round out the business begun 
early in October in East Fifty-fifth Street, 
For to anyone except the owner of a faro 
bank or a bookmaker, one hundred thousand 
dollars in large bills, acquired through the 
aid of a lead pipe, might easily turn out an 
awkward blessing. The careful Keenan had 
been specially cautious in placing his fortune. 
In a few r savings-banks where cash only is 
taken he had made deposits. He dared not 
repeat this too often. But at Monte Carlo 
his task of changing currency into cheques 
was both easy and pleasant. 

As the weeks passed he sent draft after 
draft back to New York. With the third one 
he enclosed a note to the cashier, one of his 
numerous acquaintances, telling of his luck at 
the tables. Nor was this w T holly fiction, for 
Fortune recognized Keenan as one of the bold, 
and smiled broadly upon him. 

An inventory of results this Christmas Eve 
showed him to be rid of the last of those 
embarrassing bills, and also that he had won, 
in making the exchange, twenty thousand 
francs additional. He had shaken off the 
taint of the go-between, had met men worth 
while, and these men had presented the well- 
mannered Mr, Keenan to their women-folk. 

*' I'll send myself a little gift," he smiled ; 
il but first for comfort," He got into a 
smoking-jacket and slippers, lighted a cigar, 
and drew up to the waiting-desk, Before him 
lay the last of those homeward-bound drafts. 
He started writing with the conventional : — 

Dear Sir, — Enclosed please find draft. 

He paused, and fell to dreaming. The 
comfort of his surroundings, the aroma of his 
Havana, the music of a distant orchestra, 
comb ned to make this man feel complete 
physical and mental content. Not one cloud 
now shadowed his path \ so Keenan sat and 
dreamed, The orchestra ceased* Keenan 
came to himself with a pleasant consciousness 
of his satisfactory state of being. He turned 
again to the letter ; a look of mild surprise 
came into his eyes. Taking up the paper, he 
stared at it in wonder ; the look of surprise 
deepened, and his brows drew together In a 
frown of inquiry. Then he laughed, 

" Well, I'll he hanged ! " he said, still 
looking at the letter. Beneath the formal 
beginning, written again and again in a 
straight, precise column, w + as the name James 
A. Gal way. As Keenan looked, laugh though 
he might, that name seemed to face him with 
a menace. 




" Who the devil is James A. Gal way ? " 
He held the paper a moment longer ; his 
smile had altogether gone. 

" I can't remember that I ever knew such 
a person, nor ever heard the name, 11 

Keenan tore the paper to small pieces, 
relighted his cigar, wrote a second letter to its 
conclusion, and giving up his plan for a quiet 
evening in his room, got again into his coat, 
and sought the lights and companionship of 
the crowded foyer. 

A few days after the strange writing 
Keenan moved on to Paris, where life again 
greeted him with extended hands. Some of 
the people met at Monte Carlo had drifted 
into the French capital. He sought among 
these the ones he considered worth a delicate 
cultivation. Keenan made progress* At last 
came real triumph. On a memorable night 
he had been host when a titled Englishman 
with his wife, their daughter, the Honourable 
Miss So-and-So, and the first secretary of the 
American Legation had been guests. The 
dinner was ordered with a skill to satisfy the 
most fastidious ; the wines were of a vintage 
hard to find even in Paris. The evening had 
come to a triumphant end with a supper at 
his own apartment in the best and newest 
hotel of the city. The guests had left at a 
late hour, and at leaving had paid the crowning 
tribute to Keenan's ambition : he had been 
asked to visit early in March the country 
home of the English nobleman. 

The last guest gone, Keenan threw himself 
into an easy-chair to think over the events of 
the successful evening. Life's tide was at the 
flood, He mused pleasantly, at peace with 
all the world and himself. The clock striking 
two ended his reverie. 

He became aware that his hand was not 
empty. He looked ; his smile became a 
distorted opening of the lips : his fingers held 
a pen. Upon the desk at his elbow lay a 
sheet of paper. On this, written not once, 
but from top to bottom of the page, was the 
name James A. Gal way. 

Slowly the open mouth of the man drew to 
a hard, straight line. 

<( What — what — is this ? That confounded 
name again ! " He drew his handkerchief 
across his forehead ; it came away damp. 
He rose and walked rapidly, crossing and 
recrossing the room. Finally he strode to 
the desk, snatched up the paper, and, without 
looking at the writing, tore it to bits. 

The early days of March found a change in 
Keenan. His gazr now I bid a look not su 

: M * '""' * : " 

much of uneasiness as of unrest, perhaps. He 
seemed ever to expect something— something 
not altogether pleasant* Several times during 
abstracted moments since the night of the 
party he had come to full reality to find that 
his subconscious mind had forced his hand to 
its strange task of writing and rewriting the 
name of James A. Galway. Each repetition 
had left its mark even more indelibly upon his 
mind than upon the paper. He had sought 
systematically a reason for the vagary* The 
writing was in itself strange enough, but why 
the feeling of dread ? A hundred times he 
assured himself that he had neither remorse 
nor fear for the occurrence in East Kifty-fifth 
Street. With great pains he searched out the 
names of even the most obscure New York 
politician ; none even sounded like James A, 
Gal way. After days of work and thought he 
convinced himself 'that the mysterious name 
belonged neither to friend nor foe of the boss. 
Logically, therefore, he decided that who or 
whatever James A. Gal way might be ? the 
name was in no way connected with that 
affair. Farther he could not go ; every path 
of reason ended at a barricade through which 
no opening could be forced. He tried to clear 
his mind of the haunting question, but ever 
it called to him : — 

<c Who is James A, Galway ? How 'docs 
this man touch your life ? Why does the 
writing of this accursed name fill you with 
shaking dread until now you start at the 
mere sight of white paper ? " 

The time came for Keenan's desired visit 
to his English friends. He reached their place 
after the tea- hour had passed. There was 
only time for a hasty greeting from his host 
before dressing for dinner. Keenan found, 
on descending, that the drawing-room was 
yet empty of guests. He turned into the 
library and lighted a cigarette. Afterwards, 
he remembered having sat for a moment near 
a great oak table. The cheery voice of his 
host called him from the room. Later that 
night, with several of the men, he returned to 
the library for a final smoke. Keenan was 
sitting in a far corner, deep in conversation 
with an Army man, when he heard his host 
call out : — 

" Who is this devil of an Irishman who is 
so proud of his name that he has written it 
all over the place ? Do any of you know 
James A. Galway ? " 

u 1 say, man " — it was the officer speaking 
to Keenan — " aren't you feeling well ? Here, 
tuw \i si)) of t>!\mdv_" 

That night Keenan walked in his room until 
the day ©diTwmatfrora . 





It was the last day of September, Keenan 
had booked passage far the States, and was 
to sail the next morning. By this time he 
judged it safe to place at better interest the 
money left in the banks at home. This added 
source of revenue would permit Mr, Keenan 
to return for an indefinite stay in Europe, 

Once more he was almost at peace with 
himself ; his stay in England had fulfilled his 
best wishes. He now counted several good 
families as among his growHng list of friends ; 
besides — and this was the vital point — he had 
shaken off James A. Gal way. For six months he 
had been spared a reminder from the unknown. 

On this last night in London Keenan went 
early to his rooms. By half-past ten he was 
ready for bed, or almost ready ; he had not 
as yet attended to the writing-desk. There 
was now no real need, of course ; that 
unbidden writing was a dead incident at 
which he could laugh. Indeed, he did laugh j 
if in a somewhat strained manner, as he swept 
the sheets of white paper into a drawer and 
closed it. 

By seven the next morning he was ^wake ; 

Digitized by G* 

and went to his hath humming, " I never 
felt more fit in my life/' he thought, as he 
stepped back into the room. Then Mr. 
Keenan stopped still ; all his blood standing 
stagnant about his heart, his eyes stared 
towards the writing-table. On it lay a single 
sheet of paper. With an oath Keenan sprang 
to it, tore the paper to fragments, threw them 
to the floor, and in frenzy stamped upon them* 

A sight of his distorted face, caught in the 
glass f steadied him for a moment. 

He staggered to the bed and threw himself 
face down upon it. For long minutes the 
knobs of the bed-head rattled against the 
wall. After a time he got his nerve in hand, 
lie forced his brain back to calmness. In the 
end he rose and dressed in frantic haste. 
His leaving hud heroine a flight from the torn 
bits of puper scattered on the floor* 

For six weeks Keenan had been in New 
York — six weeks of unrest and misery. The 
unbidden writing of the dreaded name had 
increased in frequency with the passing days. 
Again and.-aLuin he. had caught himself at 




the uncanny practice* At each new writing 
Keenan felt his nerve slipping from him, like 
fragments from a wave -washed shore. He 
knew the breaking-point was near at hand ; 
each fresh occurrence left him weak and 
terrified. Terrified at what ? His methodical 
reason crumbled before the unanswerable 
question- He felt now only a necessity for 
flight, but flight from what ? Flight to where ? 
In Monaco, in France, in England, on the sea, 
and most of all here in his own land, this thing 
had been done. Were the stretches of the 
earth great enough to hold a place where this 
unknown thing could not follow ? At any 
odds, he could try. He could no longer stand 
and wait until madness should catch up. He had 
arranged to begin his flight on the morrow. 

Above all, he now shunned solitude, know- 
ing that should his mind wander for an instant 
his hand would be driven to its wretched work. 

His one relief during these miserable weeks 
had been a friend ; one, though new in the 
making, still a real friend, This man, Robert 
McDonald, had, from the first, seemed to 
like him, and Keenan, thirsting for human 
sympathy, had given him every chance to 
show it. This the new friend had done in 
that awkward, masculine way where little 
said stands for much understood. 

Keenan counted greatly upon the comfort 
of this companionship for his last night at 
home. He was awaiting now, in the old rooms 
in West Forty-fourth Street, a message from 
McDonald, At last the telephone sounded, 

14 Is that you, Bob ? " asked Keenan, 
anxiously. " What's that ? You can't meet 
me until after dinner ? Why ? J? Then, 
after a pause : il Oh, nonsense ! Come right 
on up here ; I'm not going to dress." Another 
anxious pause* 4L Clean collar ? That makes 
no difference, I can lend you a dozen ; mine 
will fit, 1 ' A longer pause, and then Keenan, 
with relieved voice, (i That's all right, old 
man ; come right up." He sank back with 
a deep-drawn breath. For twenty minutes 
he had been expecting that call, an age of 
time for Keenan to wait in these days. 

McDonald received a hearty welcome on 
his first visit to Keenan' s rooms. 

Ki Come right in, old man. I didn't know 
that you were fussy about dress/* 

" You can't call this fussy," said the 
visitor, pointing to his mud-bespattered collar. 
" Compliments of a passing motor." 

*' It is pretty far gone," Keenan replied. 
" Make yourself at home, Rob. Take off 
your coat and have a wash." 

" Now for that collar yon promised me." said 
McDonald, coming from the bathroom later, 

* E In the top drawer over there ; help 

Kee nan's friend selected a collar from a 
leather travelling-case, 

4i I see you are about packed and ready for 
your trip/' he said, squaring himself before 
the glass. 

" Yes, I sail at ten to-morrow," answered 
Keenan, from his chair across the room, 
" We'll have a farewell blow-out to-night. 
I've got tickets " 

41 Bother ! " interrupted McDonald. 

" What's wrong ? M 

" I've broken my collar button." said 
Keenan's friend, 

14 Just look in that box on the right-hand 
side ; you'll find two or three there/' 

McDonald raised the lid of a small jewel- 
box and. with swift fingers, fished among 
an odd lot of buttons. 

" Here's just the thing, a bone one ; so I 
won't be robbing you of much." 

t[ Go as far as you like/' cheerfully answered 

" I say t Keenan " — from McDonald's 
position Kecmurs face was clearly reflected 
in the glass — l * you were on this side when the 
big boss got hi s last vcjix. weren't vou ? ?T 

" Well, I should' say I was ! " replied 
Keenan, naturally. The reference in no wise 
disturbed him. Many times he had gone 
through similar ordeals in the first weeks 
after the crime, and practice had perfected 
his replies, 

McDonald leisurely adjusted the new 

11 Well, it always struck me as odd that 
anyone could make a (lean get-away with a 
big job like that." 

11 They never found a clue, I believe/' 
replied Keenan, lighting a cigar with steady 

tl So they say/ 3 continued his friend. ** I 
am told that detectives swarmed all over the 
old man's house for a week." 

w But found nothing/' said Keenan, to fill 
in the pause, 

14 Almost nothing/' said the friend, 

Keenan stopped smoking. 

11 On the third day of the search a new 
man got in on the job. After this fellow had 
ransacked the place, and about given up, he 
noticed an umbrella-stand in the hall. He 
was going to look through this when the man 
in charge stopped him. saying the thing had 
been turned upside down a dozen times. So 
this new man hauled off for a bit." 

Keenan 1 s jeigar. had r gone out. 

But thkpm 



below a hole 



in one of the side-lights that the murderer 
was supposed to have cut. As soon as his 
superior got out of sight, this chap went hack 
to those umbrellas. One of them had a 
broken rib which sagged out." McDonald 
slowly adjusted the borrowed collar. Keenan 
was now quivering with attention. " Well, 
this detective took out first one umbrella and 
then another ; the bottom o£ the stand was 
as bare as an empty soup-plate ; so he put 
them back again, and moved off," 

Keenan + s tense expression relaxed. 

" But something/' continued his friend, 
iL kept pulling that man back to those 
umbrellas, At last he took up the broken 
one " — Keenan became rigid once more — 
" and opened it/' 

McDonald paused. Keenan tried to speak 
once, twice, then. * s Yes/' he gasped, in a 
voice as dry as dust. 

" Well," said McDonald, slowly, i£ half a 
sleeve-link fell out of that old umbrella." 

Keenan felt the vitais within him draw to 
a cold knot, then fear flowed through all his 
veins ; for the first time this man knew the 
sickening intensity of its icy grip. His heart 
seemed to die within his breast, to come alive 
again behind his temples, where it pounded 
as if set 1 king to break through and escape. 

" This new man put that cuff-button in his 
pocket and kept quiet. He knew that button 
belonged to the man who had cut the hole in 
the glass, and the man who cut that hole 
killed the boss/' In the mirror Keenan h s 
face showed as white as plaster. 

" There was one thing queer about the case 
that I — that this new man could not make 
out.* Headquarters worked on the job, but 
they muffled it. After a while word got 
around that though there would be no money 
reward offered, the man who could land the 
murderer might look for some pretty quick 
promotion. So this new man went to the 
chief one afternoon, and asked if he could go 
special on the case. He got assigned all right, 
but he couldn't make any headway. Finally, 
he went to the chief again, It was rumoured 
that something had happened in the com- 
missioner's office the day after the murder, 
but the chief would not say anything about 
that* The detective had to give it up, and 
for six months there was nothing doing/ 3 

Keenan made a desperate effort to get hold 
of himself. He strained painfully to piece 
together the fragments of his former nerve, 
shattered now by a written name, 

" But one evening an idea came to him/' 
McDonald's voice went s moot hi v on ■ " simple 

enough^ too 

The hole in the glass/ 

reasoned, * might have been cut just as easily 
after the murder as before/ Do you get me 
— inside job ? This new slant on the case hit 
him so hard that he chased right around to 
the chief's house. He found the old man in 
an after-dinner mood, and he tackled him hard* 
The chief loosened up a bit, and admitted 
that a man had been questioned, but had 
told a straight story, and, besides, he insisted 
that all the evidence pointed to an outside job. 
But in the end the detective got what he was 
after : the chief told him the man's name/' 

Keenan fell back in his chair, a mass of 
limp fear. 

u Then the new man got busy in earnest* 
They let him look over the record and examine 
the finger-prints/' 

*■ They lied ! " whispered Keenan. " They 
said the record would not be kept/' 

11 The two prints/ 1 continued Keenan's 
friend, ignoring the interruption, il were about 
as different as two thumbs could have made. 
But at last the strongest glass of the depart- 
ment showed him something interesting in 
the faint impression on the putty. You know, 
finger-lines never touch. Well, just at one 
point , and only for about the thousandth part 
of an inch, two of these lines came together* 
I tell you, the man w T ho did that carving had 
a keen eye and a steady hand/' 

All this time McDonald had stood with his 
back to Keenan, studying in the glass the 
stricken face of his victim. Abruptly he 
turned and said 3 grimly : " Well, Keenan, do 
you want to hear any more ? Or are you ready 
to go with me now ? " There was the glimmer 
of gold in his outstretched palm* u Your 
broken set is at last complete/' 

4t Who in thunder are you ? "gasped Keenan. 

" Robert McDonald, of the Police Depart- 
ment/ 7 coldly answered his friend, 

Si You lie, you sneaking rat ! " screamed 
Keenan, lk You are James A. Gal way ! n 

tl What do you know about James A. 
Gal way ? " McDonald shot out the question, 

" 1 know that he is a hound who has been 
slinking in my shadow. I know that he is a 
cur who has had food and drink and friend- 
ship from me so that in the end he might 
cheat me out of my life under the name of 
Robert McDonald/' 

u Wrong, Keenan ; but it is queer you 
should hit on the only part of the job 1 
couldn't clean up/ 7 McDonalds words reached 
through a mist of fear and rage to KeenanVs 
brain. t£ It was only a name written on a 
yellow pad, found in the boss's room. None 
of us could ever figure out just who James A. 
Gal way was/ * Ori q i n a I f ro m 



Xneir Human Side. 


has a remarkable record. Be- 
fore he was thirty lie hud tfone 
through five military cam- 

paigns and had written one of 
the best biographies in the 
English language, for which, by 
the way, although only a comparatively short 
book, he is said to have received no less than 
eight thousand pounds. By the time he was 
thirty-two he had become a Cabinet Minister, 
and has held office ever since, during three 
years of which period he was First Lord of 
the Admiralty, 

Such a man is necessarily an interesting 
and vivid personality, and 
the pubbc may be inter- 
ested to learn some details 
of the way in which he 
lives and does his work. 
First of all, let me say that 
the public do not know 
Mr + Churchill. They be- 
lieve him to be a fragile, 
delicate man who works on 
his nerves and enthusiasm. 
There was never a greater 
mistake* He is a strongly- 
built, muscular person who 
takes a very healthy in- 
terest in his meals. With 
Winston dinner is a sacred 
institution. He never 
misses his grub. Very few 
men could perform the 
amount of work which he 
does, and fewer still could 
bear the constant strain 
and anxiety to which he 
has been subjected for 
many months past, The 
popular impression regard 
in^ Mr, Churchill's health 
is due in a great measure 
to his p.llor. He has a 
very white, fair skin, which 
makes him look delicate. 

Digitized by K^i 


This is accentuated by his almost constant 
habit of bending his head forward, which gives 
him the appearance of a slight stoop, Mr. 
Churchill starts work early in the morning 
II you are privileged to interview him in his 
Iwdroom, say at eight o'clock, you will find 
him sitting up in bed busily writing page after 
page of memoranda or despatches, or dictating 
to his shorthand writer. Mr. Churchill writes 
a beautiful hand, and makes comparatively 
few alterations in what he writes. He has 
the literary mind and literary habit. He 
thinks over his sentences before he writes 
them, and, as a rule, when written they 
rcquire very little change. He usually rises 
about nine o'clock, and in 
the course of dressing fre- 
quently does more writing 
or dictating. After he has 
dressed, if his engagements 
will permit, he takes a 
short ride in the Park, 
either alone or with Mrs. 
Churchill, He does not 
readily make friends, and 
occasionally gives offence 
to comjxirative strangers 
by the preoccupied and 
rather gloomy manner 
which he at times presents. 
When thinking over some 
problem, he will often be 
quite oblivious of all around 
him, and will fail to see or 
greet friends or acquaint- 
ances w T hom he may meet. 
On the other hand, be is 
a close and constant friend 
to those he likes* A de- 
lightful companion, always 
full of interesting subjects 
for conversation, he has a 
fund of good stories and 
is always ready with some 

ILL AT A«OUT TKK "PE "* *&**™- He is 

TWK1.VK. wc " reac '' an d, tike Mr. 

tnom iIJ^O>tJ George, has the art 



J 37 

the problems of life, and is prepared with wise 
apothegms for all occasions, 

1 have said that the public do not understand 
Mr. Churchill, and 1 have instanced the case of his 
health. They also fail to understand his methods. 
They do not appreciate that he is a most industrious, 
thorough, and hard-working Minister, Ik gets up 
e*ery detail of a subject, and is always prepared to 
enforce his case by carefully-prepared arguments and 

Mr. Churchill has the defects of his qualities. Like 
most brilliant men, he sometimes acts too much on 
the impulse of the moment. Many men are deterred 
from action by doubt of their own capacity, hut Mr, 
Churchill's achievements have very naturally given 
him i confidence in his ability to carry through most 
enterprises. He is also, perhaps, too logical. His 
clear and well - ordered brain docs not ah 

Fkot* tth* ** Waltr v 

of picking the good things out 
of a book and remembering 
them. Mr. Churchill has a 
wonderful memory for verses. 
Three of his favourite poets are 
Bums, Kipling, and Lindsay 
Gordon. Long before the war 
he was fond of quoting Eurns's 
well-known verse :— 

For gold the merchant ploughs the 

The farmer ploughs the manor ; 
But glory is the sodger's prize, 

The sodger's wealth Is honour. 
The brave poor sodger ne*er despise. 

Nor count him as a si ranger; 
Remember he's his country*s stay 

In day and hour of danger, 

Mr. Churchill has played 
many rales, but undoubtedly 
at heart he is a soldier* He 
places courage above all other 
virtues. He usually looks at 
matters from a soldiers point 
of view, and delights in mill- 
tary history. He loves to study 
the detail of great campaigns, 
and always looks forward to 
writing the life of his ancestor, 
the great Duke of Marlborough. 
Like Mr, Lloyd George, Mr, 
Churchill is a great philo- 
sopher. He has thought out 

Vol. L-18. 






appreciate that most human affairs 
are not governed by logic and that 
people do not act in ordered sequence. 
Mr. Churchill also has a wonderful 
memory, both for large and small 
things, (U has a delightful way n[ 
remembering his friends on .suitable 
anniversaries — a wonderful tribute of 
friendship from a busy man. Few 
things please him better than to do 
one oi his friends a good turn. 

MrXhurchill has many relaxations ; 
one of his chief delights is the prepa- 
ration and delivery of a fine perora- 
tion, lit loves perorations, and when 
he is in good form his conversation 
often consists of a whole series, which 
he declaims one after the other with 
great point and emphasis. He is much 
younger than he looks. His teeming 
and eventful life has left its mark. 
He already uses spectacles for read- 
ing and writing, and his face bears 
evidence of much mental work and 
responsibility. He is a singular com- 
bination of youthfulness and age. 
He loves to wear rather old -fash ioned- 
looking hats and clothes. On the 
other hand, when away from work 
he is often full of fun and boyish 

Pktitfr Utlit Cfcirta 

No account of Mr. Churchill would 
be complete without a reference to his 
wife and children. Mrs. Churchill is an 
altogether delightful person. In addition 
to being very pretty, she possesses that 
indefinite and remarkable charm which 
is so attractive. She is very bright and 
vivacious, and full of good humoured, 
witty little sayings. She is a wonderful 
combination. She combines the beauty. 
iippcarancCj Style, ta.ste, and distin- 
guished manner of a great lady with 
the common sense, tact, and worldly 
wisdom of the ordinary middle -class 


TOofo. Start £ j 

Hi.'Lll'AV MOOI> 

(part £ Q€n*ra{. 


| Other articles in this series wiii 
follow Jn 4ut. coursed 
Original from J 


A Modern Arabian Nigkt. 


Illustrated fey Alfred Leete. 

I ^ M L ?^DBB 

O Carson Chalmers, in his 
rooms near the square, Phillips 
brought the evening post. 
Besides the routine corre- 
spondence there were two 
items bearing the same foreign 
One of the incoming parcels contained a 

photograph of a 

woman. The 

other contained 

an interminable 

letter, over which 

Chalmers hung, 

absorbed, for a 

long time. The 

letier was from 

another woman ; 

and it contained 

poisoned barbs, 

sweetly^dipped in 

honey. and 

feathered with 

innuendoes con- 
cerning the 



Chalmers tore 

this letter inio 

a thousand bits 

and began to 

wear out his ex 

pensive rug by 

striding back- 
wards and for- 
wards upon it. 

Thus an animal 

from the jungk 

acts when t is 

caged, and thu:* 

a caged man arts 

when he is housed 

in a jungle of 


By and by the 

restless mood was 

overcome. The 

rug was not rn ■* i-hillifs, as though he u> 

Cicbantci one* in c iakge a burglar— waftk 

Digitized by G* 

For sixleen feet he could travel along it ; 

several hundred miles was beyond its power 

to aid, 

Phillips appeared. He never entered; he 

invariably appeared, like a wdl-oika genie. 
" Will you dine here, sir, or out ? " he 


" Here/' said Chalmers, " and in half an 

hour." He 
listened glumly to 
the January 
blasts making an 
/Eolian trombone 
of the empty 

li Wait/' he 
said to the disap- 
pearing genie. 
" As I came home 
across the end of 
the square 1 saw 
many men stand 
ing there in rows. 
There was one 
mounted upon 
something, talk- 
ing. W h y do 
those men stand 
in rows, and 
whv are they 

"They are 
homeless men, 
sir/' said Phillips, 
£t The man stand 
ing on the box 
tries to get lodg- 
ing for them 
for the night. 
People come 
round to listen 
and give him 
money. Then 
he sends as many 
as the money will 
pay for lo seme 
lod gi ng-hcuse. 
That is why ihcy 
stand in rows : 



Original from 



they get sent to bud in order as they 

14 By the time dinner is served," said 
Chalmers, iS have one ol those men here. He 
will dine with me/' 

;< W-w-which f ' l>egan Phillips, stam- 
mering for the first time during his service. 

" Choose one ut random/' said Cha mers. 

from the restaurant below had whisked aloft 
the delectable dinner. The dimng table, 
laid for two, showed cheerily in the glow of 
the pink -shaded candles. 

And n©w Phillips, as though he ushered a 
cardinal — or he4d in charge a burglar — waf;ed 
m 1 he shivering guest who had been haled 
from the line of mendicant lodgers. 

It is a common thing to call such 
men wrecks ; if the comparison be 
used here it is the specific one ol 
a derelict come to grief through fire* 

*' You might see that he is reasonably solder 
■ — and a certain amount of cleanliness will 
not be held against him. That is all/' 

It was an unusual thing for Carson Chalmers 
to play the Caliph. But on that night he 
felt the inefficacy of conventional antidotes 
to melancholy. Something wanton and 
egregious, something high - flavoured and 
Arabian, he must have to lighten his mood. 

On the half-hour Philips had finished his 
duties as slave of the lamp. The waiters 

by Google 


Even yet some flickering combustion 
illuminated the drifting hulk. His face and 
bands had been recently washed- a rite 
insisted upon by Phillips as a memorial 
to the slaughtered conventions, fn the 
candle-light he stood, a flaw in the decorous 
fittings of the apartment. His face was a 
sickly white, covered almost to the eyes with 
a stubble the shade of a red Irish setter^ 
coat. Phillips's comb had failed to control 
the pale brown hair, long matted, and con- 
formed to the contour of a constantly worn 
hat. His eyes were full of a hopeless, tricky 
defiance like that seen in a curs that is 
cornered by his tormentors. His shabby 
coat was battoncd high, but a quarter-inch 
of redeeming collar showed above it. His 
manner was singularly free from embarrass- 
ment when Chalmers rose from his chair 
across the round dining- table. 

'* If you will oblige me/' said the host, u I 
Original from 

.4 MODERN A RAH! AX XidlJ . 


e your company at 

said the highway 

sh;;ll Ix: glad to hav 

" My name is Plumer 
guest, in harsh and aggressive tones, lL If 
you're like nie, you like to know the name of 
the party you're dining with." 

1 I was going on to say," 
continued Chalmers, somewhat 
hastily, " that mine is Chalmers. 
Will you sit opposite ? h 

Plumer, of the ruffled plumes, 
bent his knees for Phillips to 

full of cheap JIaroun al Raschids as Brgdad 
is of fleas, I've lx x en held u[> for my story 
with a It aaded meal pointed at my head 
twenty times/' 

" I do not ask your story," said Chalmers. 
£t I tell you franklv that it was a sudden 


slide the chair hencath him. He had an air 
of haying sat at attended hoards before. 
Phillips set out the anchovies and olives, 

" Good : ,n harked Plumer. " Going to be 
In courses, is il ? All right, my jovial ruler 
of Bagdad. I'm your Scheherazade all the 
way to the toothpicks. You're the first 
Caliph with a genuine Oriental flavour I\v 
struck. What lurk ! And I was forty-third 
in the Line. I finished counting just as your 
welcome emissary arrived to hid me to the 
feast, I had about as much chance of getting 
a bed to-night as I have of being the next 
Prime Minister. How will you have the sad 
story of my life, Mr, al Rasc'iid— a chapter 
with each course, or the whole edition with 
the cigars and coffee ? " 

1 The situation does not seem a novel one 
to you/' said Chalmers, with a smile, 

" By the chin- whiskers of the prophet— 
DO ! M answered the guest, "London's as 

Digitized by LiOOQ IC 

whim which prompted mc to send for some 
stranger to dine with me. I assure you you 
will not suffer through any curiosity of 

" Oh t fudge ! " exclaimed the guest, 
enthusiastically tackling his soup ; hi I don't 
mind It a bit. I'ma regular Oriental magazine 
with a red cover and the leaves cut when [he 
Caliph walks abroad. In fact, we fellows in 




for a bed gets 

the bed-line have a sort of im"on rate for 

tilings of this sort. Somebody's always 

stopping and wanting to know what brought 

us down so low in the world- For a sandwich 

and a glass of beer 1 tell em that drink did 

it. For beef and cabbage and a <:up 

of coffee I give 'em the hard-hearted landlord 

— six - months - in - the - hospital - losi - job 

story. A steak end a coin 

the tragedy of 

the swept-away 

fortune and the 

gradual descent. 

This is the 

first spread of 

this kind I've 

stumbled ag.iinsu 

I haven't got a 

story to fit it, 

F 11 tell you what, 

Mr. Chalmers 

I'm going to tell 

you the truth for 

this, if y o u " 1 1 

listen to it* It'll 

be harder for you 

to believe than 

the made-up 


An hour later 
the Arabian gues; 
lay back with a 
sigh of satis- 
faction, while 
Phillips brought 
the coffee and 
cigars and cleared 
the tabic. 

" Did you ever 
hear of Sherrard 
Flumer ? ° he 
asked, with a 
strange s nile. 

(< I remember 
the name/' said 
Chalmers. " He 
was a painter, I 
think, of a good 
deal of prominence a few years ago." 

"Five years," said the' guest. "Then I 
went down like a chunk of lead. I'm 
Sherrard Plumcr ! I sold the last portrait I 
painted for five hundred pounds. After that 
I couldn't have found a sitter for a gratis 
picture ," 

11 What was the trouble ? " Chalmers 
could not resist asking, 

Funny thing," answered Plumer, grimly, 
" Never quite understood it myself. For a 

Digitized by GOOQ I C 

while I swam like a cork, I broke into the 
swell crowd and got commissions right and 
left. The newspapers called me a fashionable 
painter. Then the funny things began to 
happen. Whenever I finished a picture 
people would come to see it, and whisper and 
look queer ly at one another. 

i( I soon found out what the trouble was, 
I had a knack of bringing out in the face of 
a portrait the bidden character of 
the original. I don't know how I 
did it — 1 painted what I saw — but 
I know it d:d me. Some of my 
sitters were fearfully enraged, and 
refused their pictures. I painted 
the portrait of a very beautiful 


and popular society dame. When it was 
finished her husband looked at it with a 
peculiar expression on his face, and the next 
week he sued for divorce. 

" I remember one case of a prominent 
banker who sat to me. While I had his 
portrait on exhibit ion in my studio an 
acquaintance of his came in to look at it. 
1 Bless me I " says he, i does he reallv look 
^ke that ? T I told him it was considered u 
faithful likeness. 

Original from 




1 I never noticed that expression about 
his eyes before,' said he ; 'I think I'll drop 
into town and change my bank account/ 
He did drop into town, but the bank account 
was gone, and so was Mr, Banker, 

" It wasn't long before they put me out 
of business. People don't want their secret 
meannesses shown up in a picture. They can 
smile and twist their own faces and deceive 
you, but the picture can't, I couldn't get 
an order for another picture, and I had to 
give up, I worked as a newspaper artist for 
a while, and then for a lithographer, but my 
work with them got me into the same trouble. 
If I drew from a photograph my drawing 
show + ed up characteristics 11 nd expressions 
that you couldn't find in the photograph, 
but they were in the original all right. 
The customers raised lively rows, especially 
the women, and I never could hold a job 
long. And pretty soon I was in the fn c-lxxl 
line* Does the truthful statement veary 
thee, O Caliph ? " 

u No, no/' said Chalmers, earnestly ; ' l ycu 
interest me very much. Did all your portraits 
reveal some unpleasant trait, or were there 
some that did not suffer from the ordeal of 
vour peculiar brush ? " 

** Some ? Ycs/ T said Plumer. " Children 
generally ; a good many women, and a 
sufficient number of men. All people aren't 
bad j you know*. When they were all right 
the pictures were all right. As 1 said, I 
don't explain it, but Fm telling you 

On Chalmers's writing-table lay the photo- 
graph that he had received that day in the 
foreign mail. Ten minutes later he had 
Plumer at work making a sketch from it in 
pastels. At the end of an hour the artist 
rose and stretched wearily, 

" It's done," he yawned, M You'll excuse 
me for being so long. I got interested in the 
job. Lord ! but Pm tired. No bed last 
night, you know. Guess it'll have to be 
' good night ' now, O Commander of the 
Faithful l" 

Chalmers went as far as the door with Km 
and slipped some notes into his hand. 

u Oh, I'll take ? em t " said Plumer. » All 
that's included in the fall. Thanks, And 
for the very good dinner. I shall sleep on 
feathers to-night and dream of Bagdad. I 
hope it won't turn out to be a dream in the 
morning. Farewell, most excellent Caliph ! " 

Again Chalmers paced restlessly upon his 
rug. But his beat lay as far from the table 
whereon lay the pastel sketch as the room 
would permit, Twice, thrice, he tried to 
approach it, but failed, He could see the 
dun and gold and brown of the colours, but 
there was a wall about it built by his fears 
that kept him at a distance* He sat down 
and tried to calm himself. He sprang up 
and rang for Phillips, 

" There is a young artist in this building/* 
he said , " — a Mr. Reineman — do you know 
which is his apartment ? '" 

(i Top floor, front, sir/' said Phillips. 

£t Go up and ask him to favour me with his 
presence here for a few minutes." 

Reineman came at ence. Chalmers intro- 
duced himself. 

** J-r. Reineman," said he, " there is a 
l!tUc pastel sketch on vender U.blc. I should 
be gfad if you would g!vc me your opinion of 
it as to its artistic merits and us a picture." 

The young artist advanced to the table 
and took up the sketch. Chalmers half 
turned away, leaning upon the back of a chair. 

" How — do — you — find it ? " he asked, 

" As a drawing/ 1 said the artist, " I can't 
praise it enough. It's the work of a master 
— bold and fine and true. It puzzles me a 
little ; I haven't seen any pastel work nearly 
as £Ood for years." 

" The face, man — the subject — the 
original — what would you say of that ? " 

1 The face/' said Reintmiin, *' is the face 
of one of God's own angels. May I ask 
who- ■ ? M 

lh My wife ! " shouted Chalmers, wheeling, 
and pouncing upon the astonished artist, 
gripping h:s hand and pounding his back, 
,k She is travelling u road. Take that 
sketch, boy, and paint the picture of your 
life from it, and leave the price to me. 7 * 

by Google 

Original from 


ustrated by XVarwick Reynolds. 

HE London parson had taken 
a night off to run down and 
preach for Stackhouse. 

He liked the change* It 
was like dipping into another 
world to slip out of his own 
restless parish into the utterly 
tlifTcTent atmosphere of this quiet country 
town. It had struck him most in the pulpit! 
whin the lights went up on the sleepy con- 
gregation and he gave out a concluding hymn. 
How alike they were; all one pattern^ alJ 
known to each other, all leading the same 
staid, ordinary lives. What a blessed tonic, 
his brief sojourn in this placid community. 

He puffed out his chest, drinking in the 
soft night air that was so good to swallow. 
He was a big man and burly, and the narrow 
pavement would hardly hold the three of 
I hem abreast, so he was walking between the 
oilier two down the middle of the darkened 
street. They passed various worshippers in 
the glimmer — families, friends, and sweet- 
hearts— nil of them pausing to say good night. 
Such a peaceable little town and so friendly! 
It struck htm again as comical that it should 
have been Stackhouse and not himself who 
had had a nervous breakdown last summer. 
He burst out chuckling, and then, on the 
point of sharing his amusement at such an 
anomaly, was discreet, Those highly-strung 
individuals were so touchy. And Stackhouse 
did not seem in the humour for chaffing. 
His mouth whs set in an odd line of strained 
endurance and he hardly spoke. His long, lean, ascetic figure had 
something monkish about it as he stalked along in his cassock. 
His eyes were staring into the gloom ahead. 

Mrs. Stackhouse, on the other side, was making up for her 
husband's silence. Robinson had had no idea she was such a 
chattering woman, ft began to annoy him. It seemed to him that 
there was a suggestion of hysteria in her incessant prattle. 

by Google 

Original from 



Kear the vicarage gate they overtook a 
woman of the charwoman class, and the 
vicar's wife hailed her with the usual saluta- 
tion and asked why Bessy had missed Sunday- 
school, The woman unlatched the gate for 
them. She had a small child with her, and 
spoke for its benefit in a mint ing tone, 

" Bessy's bin a very bad girl, ma'am. 
She's been telling lies/* 

** Oh, dear ! " said Mrs. Stackhouse, pro- 
perly scandalized. 

£ * Yes, ma^am \ the young monkey ! She 
will have it her lady, as used to, sat with her 
on Sunday night/' 

" Oh ! " said Mrs, Stackhouse again, but 
swiftly. " Nonsense j nonsense ! " 

She whisked through the gate, which 
clanged after them, leaving the woman out- 
side with the infant, unadmonished, hanging 
to her skirt with a finger in its mouth. In 
the hght of the hall lamp she glanced furtively 
at her husband, 

"My dear boy!" she said, hurriedly, 
almost wildly ; " a child of four — ■ — I " 

Stackhouse dropped his eyes irWtt hers, 
and lifted his hand with a curious gesture as 
if he were wiping the sweat from his brow. 

Inside the house Mrs. Stackhouse fled to 
the kitchen to hurry that uncomfortable 
meal called supper, and the two men waited 
a minute or two by the study fire. 

,( Awfully good of you to come dow r n, 
Robinson," said the vicar. He spoke in a 
strained voice ; there was something in it 
that sounded like expectation, hke some faint 
hope ; but the Londoner, for all his alertness, 
had not the due. He noticed, however, 
that his host's knuckles gleamed white as 

he gripped hard on the edge of the chimney* 
piece. These long, weedy men had no stamina, 
physical or nervous. It must have been his 
temperament, certainly not his surroundings, 
that had made Stackhouse go to pieces. 

" Good of you to ask me/' he said, politely, 
" I love this quiet place. Such a contrast 
to my parish I You should see us up there, 
how crowded, quarrelling and fighting. I'jn 
afraid that sea voyage didn't set you up 
altogether ? " 

il 1 thought it had, though/' said Stack- 
house, abruptly, * £ When 1 came hack *' 

He shut his mouth suddenly in the middle 
of the sentence, but looked hard at his fellow- 
priest. In his look was wistfulness^ and an 
imminent despair. 

" I'd like to ask you something/' he said f 
il but — I dare not. ? * He let go the chimney- 
piece and led the way into the dining-room, 
where Mrs, Stackhouse 
was calling them. She 
was too anxiously hospit- 
al)! eforcomfort,bouncmg 
up and down behind her 
coffee-pot, fussing about 
the food, and rattling on 
feverishly ; but keeping, 
the visitor could see, a 
distracted eye on her hus- 
band. There was not 
much coherence in her 
prattle, and sometimes 
she lost the thread 
of it and looked for j 

:i . 

■ r 


*j : ill 

Vol. 1,-19, 

ize<J by LjOOS 




minute helpless. Only at such disconcert- 
ing moments could the Londoner, coming 
to the rescue j get a word in. 

Why would the woman insist on talking, 
and what was she afraid of ? Some out- 
break of nerves on the part of the silent man ? 
Was it pure hysteria on her part, or was she 
trying to cover some private fear ? 

He seized the first opportunity to take his 
share in the conversation^ mildly humorous, 
but conscious all the while of the peculiar 
strain in the atmosphere. And then^ Inci- 
dentally, he remembered something. 

" By the way/' he said/' you lucky people, 
you know all your congregation. Who is the 
lady who sat in the side aisle alone in the 
seat next the pillar ? A singularly interest- 
ing face " 

Mrs. Stackhouse started violently. 

M Wh — what was she like ? " she asked* 

M Rather eager and sad/ 1 said Robinson, 
re fleeting j "but quite a girl; She had a 
pointed chin, and dark hair, I think, and 
large, dark eyes— penetrating eyes ; and she 
wore some kind of glittering J ewe) hung round 
her neck. It was her troubled expression 
that struck me first — -" 

He broke off astonished. For Stackhouse 
had stood up and was staring at him, gripping 
the table, leaning over. I lis look was half 
incredulous., half unspeakable relief, 

" Then/' he said, in a choked voice , 
" you, too, saw her. Thank Heaven I I am 
not mad," 

Mrs. Stackhouse hid her face suddenly in 
her hands and burst into an uncontrollable 
fit of crying. 

The visitor looked from one to the other in 
real alarm. Fie could see nothing in his 
harmless remark to affect them so deeply, or 
to relax , as it seemed, an intolerable strain. 

" I'm afraid — — " he began, 

Mrs. Stackhouse sat up and smiled. 

w But we are so thankful to you/' she said, 
still sobbing. H Oh, you can't imagine what 
a relief it is ! You Ye an independent witness 
— unprejudiced — and you saw her. Oh; you 
don't know what it means to us. We were 
both so terrified that his mind was going— — " 

14 Still/' said the Londoner, puzzled, " I 
can't see how my mentioning that young 
lady " ' ' 

She interrupted him. Something like awe 
hashed her excited voice. 

'The girl" you saw in church/' she said. 
M died last year." 

'*■ Impossible ! " said Robinson. 
"Stackhouse— 1 * ho was with difficulty con- 
trolling a nervous tremor that shook him 




from head to foot, but wliose voice was steady 
—moved to the door. 

u Let us go back to the study/' he said^ 
" and talk it oven 3 ' 

His whole manner was changed as he stood 
on the hearthrug looking down on his guest 
and his wife. He had lost the pathetic 
hesitation that Robinson had noticed in him 
that night ; and recovered something of his 
old bearing of priestly pomp. "Most of us 
believe in the unseen/' he pronounced ; 
'* but to find what belongs to the other world 
made visible — brought so close — is a dreadful 
shock. My wife thought it must be an hallu- 
cination ; she thought I was going mad — 
and I, too, grew horribly afraid. You see, I 
had had that nervous breakdown before , and 
the doctors sent me away for six months. It 
looked as if the prescription had failed* We 
thought that my breakdown must have been 
the warning of a mental collapse. We— 
I can't tell you, Robinson; what we' suffered. 
And yet I saw that poor girl, night after 
night, so plainly— — !> 

" Sfl^was such a nice girl ! if broke in Mrs, 
Stackhouse, in her gasping treble ; " and 
such a help in the parish, Wc liked her so 
much, And, of course, we were getting no 
letters — the doctors had forbidden it: we 
had heard nothing whatever: till We came 
home and they told us she had committed 
suicide soon after we went away t I thought 
the shock of it had been too much far George* 
No wonder — such a goad girl, Mr; Rjohinson. 
She — she used to sit in that s#£t with the 
'school children to keep them quiet, N*> one 
could have dreamt she could do anything so 
wicked " - —- - ■« - i * ; i , 

"Do you mean/" said -Robinson; btantlw 
H that I saw a ghost ? " ^ -." 

Stackhouse bent his head. His ~ wife 
shivered suddenly as if she had not till then 
fully realized what it meant. Her mind had 
been so possessed by feaT for the sanity of her 
husband ; her relief had been too intense. 

" I — suppose so/ ? she said, in an a?n- 
strjekeri whisper. ■ > -*— 

There followed a short pause ; no sound 
but the fire crackling and the night wind 
sighing a little outside the room. Mr*, 
Stackhouse drew in nearer the fender as if 
she were very cold, and made a little gasp in 
her throat, Tlte Londoner, looking from or*, 
to the other with his kindly, humorous glance, 
began to talk common sense. 

" Of course it's a mistake/' he said. '* The 

girl i saw in church to-night was real. It 

can only be some chance likeness — perhaps a 

relation " 

Original from 





( i\, \\>u* unqinalTrom 




Stackhouse shook his head, 

** No," he said* u There's no one like her. 
Poor girl j poor girl ; her spirit cannot rest, 
God forgive me, there must have been some- 
thing deadly wrong in my teaching, since it 
could not keep her from such a dreadful act, 
Is it strange that she looks reproachful ? *' 

" But haven't you made inquiries ? " 

" We have not dared to speak of it to a 
soul ! ** cried Mrs. Stack house. li They would 
all have believed — as I did — -that George was 
going mad. Oh, can't you see the horrible 
difficulty? And then " 

" I am not going to have my church made 
a public show for the rabble," said Stackhouse, 
violently. u I won't have that desecration ! 
Can't you see them crowding here m their 
thousands, staring, sc offing, profaning a holy 
place ? The newspapers would seize on the 
tale in a moment ! For Heaven's sake, man, 
hold your tongue." 

He stopped, and again that nervous 
tremor took him. 

" Do you mind telling me the circum- 
stances ? Who was this girl ? " said the 
Londoner, curious 3 but stoutly incredulous. 
" It certainly wasn't the face of a suicide that 
I saw—" 

" No, It's incomprehensible," said Stack- 
house, trying to recover a sort of calm. *' She 
was the last person in the world, you would 
have said* How little we creatures know ! 
She lived with her uncle, a solicitor here, and 
kept house for him. The uncle is my church- 
warden, She was going out shortly to India to 
be married. There, was nothing to worry her*" 

41 Poor little Kitty ! " said Mrs. Stackhouse, 
in a sobbing breath, " If only we had been 

" Yes, she might have confided in us," 
said Stackhouse. " But the priest I left in 
charge here was a young man, lately ordained ; 
shy, and not observant. And nobody had 
noticed anything strange about her. Only 
her uncle said at the inquest that he was 
afraid she had been a little scared at the idea 
of her approaching marriage. She had lived 
in this place all her life, and it was a wrench 
to leave it ; and she had not seen the man for 
five years* He was afraid she must have been 
brooding in secret and dread ng the journey ; 
and he blamed himself for thinking it only 
natural a girl should be fluttered at the 
prospect of such a tremendous step. Poor 
man, he must have been terribly distressed. 
One of the jury told me that if they could 
have found any possible excuse they would 
have brought it in misadventure, if only to 
spare his feelings^— " 

Digitized by Google 

" But she went down to the chemist her- 
self and bought the stuff/' broke in Mrs. 
Stackhouse. " She told him she wanted it 
for an old dog that had been run over ; she 
signed the poison book and asked him 
particularly if it would be painless. Of 
course, knowing her as he did, he never 
dreamt — — M 

" And the dog ? " said Robinson* 

' f There was no dog," said Stackhouse. 
" No one in the house had heard of it. She 
locked her door as usual at night — she had 
done it ever since an alarm of burglars in the 
house yeajs ago ; and when they got fright- 
ened in the morning and burst it in she was 
found dead in bed. She had drunk tW 
poison in the lemonade she took up with her 
e%>ery night," 

11 And they buried her with a mutilated 
service!' 1 said Mrs, Stackhouse f shuddering. 

11 Poor girl ! " said Stackhouse, and turned 
away his head. 

The London parson broke the distressing 

"A very sad case/ 5 he said; "but aren't 
you letting it overcome your judgment? 
Why in this case beyond all others should 
her unhappy spirit be allowed to haunt the 
church ? I dare say it is just what a miser- 
able soul would wish, sorrowful, self-torment- 
ing — if uncontrolled, But I see no reason 
why it should be permitted. And assuming 
it could be, I'm curious to know why she 
should appear to you and not to her own 
relation, lie would have spoken of it^ wouldn't 
he, if she had ? " 

,( Poor man ! " said Mrs* Stackhouse, with 
an hysterical laugh that she was unable to 
check; " he would have raised the whole 

11 Probably/' said Stackhouse, the grave 
line of his mouth relaxing, " but he shut 
up his house and went away ; the loneliness 
was too much for him, And I hear that on 
his travels he seems to have come across a 
sensible woman who took him and married 
him. Some middle-aged person like himself, 
who had no ties and was feeling lonely, It's 
the best that could happen." 

u The blinds were up as I passed the house 
yesterday," said Mrs, Stackhouse, 

" Heavens, Robinson, what's to be done ? ir 
burst out Stackhouse. M Look at us, talking 
coolly in the face of this horror ! I can't 
stand the thing much longer. Think of it, 
man ! Week after week, there she sits, with 
her eyes fixed on me— 1 ' 

M Oh, George, George ! " said his wife, 

Original from 




Robinson was sorry for them both. Evi- 
dently both of them were neurotic, and the 
tragic circumstance they related had affected 
them ; their highly-strung temperaments, 
acting on each other, had worked them up 
to a really dangerous pitch. And Stack- 
house hadn't enough to do. Perhaps it was 
worse for him to rust in this quiet parish 
than to wear himself out with work. The 
doctors had sent him on a sea voyage, had 
they ? Months of idleness and too much 
introspection. Fools ! 

" Lcok here," he said, " you go up and take 
over my job for a bit, and I'll stop down here 
and discover something, You'll be giddy 
at first, but the organisation's good, and 
I've got a regular martinet of a curate* Hell 
manage you and see you don't kill yourself, 
And I think Mrs, Stackhouse wil! find my 
house quite comfortable for a bachelor's. 
1 want a holiday badly — and you II soon shake 
of! this obsession of yours in a London 

Mrs, Stackhouse looked up eagerly at her 
husband. Relief at the great suggestion 
shone in her eyes. 

" It would be cowardly to do that/* said 
Stackhouse, irresolutely. " I should feel as 
if I had deserted a poor soul that needs my 
help/ 1 

** You're not fit to help anyone in t he present 
state of your nerves/' said his fellow- pars on, 
and clinched the argument like a Jesuit. 
" How do you know she wants your help 
more than mine ? Didn't I see her too ? Tl 


The October sun shone aslant the quiet 
street as the Rev, Mr, Robinson marched 
along it to call on his — or, rather, on Stack- 
house's truant churchwarden, Mr, Parker. 
He had a straw hat on and swung liis stick. 

Personally, he was hugely enjoying his 
interval of peace, and he had in his pocket 
a letter from his head curate extolling Stack- 
house, who was working like a demon, and 
looked less ill. It only remained for Robinson 
to clear up the ghost worry in unmistakable 
fashion, which ought not to be too hard. He 
smiled. Odd tricks one's imagination played 
sometimes ! Recollecting Stack ho use's un- 
balanced asseveration, he had himself experi- 
enced a slight thrill as he peered down the 
glimmering aisle on the following Sunday 
evening, and saw the same face that had 
impressed him before, the same dark eyes 
riveted on him. His robust intellect, that 
admitted all things to be possible, but few 
of them expedient, had been a little 


staggered by the sad intensity — imagination 
again — of her look. But a very commonplace 
incident had rescued him from any foolish- 
ness ; just a little nodding child that had 
snuggled up against her as she gathered it in 
her arm. 

He told himself that what lie had to do 
was simply to make a few discreet inquiries 
and get acquainted with the disturbing 
young woman. He had spoken to the clerk 
after service, but that ancient worthy had 
not noticed who was sitting by the pillar ; 
his sight, he explained, was not so good as it 
might be t with that chancy gas. Happen it 
was some stranger ; folk was a bit shy of 
sitting that side because of the children 
fidgeting, and them boys — you couldn't 
keep them boys quiet ! Happen it was a 
teacher ? 

Clearly there was no disquieting rumour 
current, no local gossip ; there seemed to lie 
no foundation for any supernatural hypothesis 
but the overwrought condition of the parson's 

Robinson reached his destination, and 
pushed open the iron gate. Mr. Parker was 
out. but Mrs. Parker was at home, and the 
caller was marched into the drawing-room. 

This was a mixture of ancient middle-class 
superstition and modern ease. It amused 
Robinson to compare the two, and even to 
track the ancestral album to its lurking-place 
behind a potted palm. While he waited he 
undid the stiff clasp and turned over the 
pages* Pity that people had given up that 
instructive custom of pillorying different 
generations for the good of posterity ! It was 
an interesting study to look back and murk 
how family traits persisted, how they cropped 
up on occasion as ineradicable as weeds. He 
went through the book with the keen eye of 
an anthropologist. There was something 
elusive, something distantly familiar running 
through the whole collection. He must haVo 
met a member of that family at one time 
without knowing it. On the very last page 
he saw her ; a photograph of a girh 

Breaking in on his moment of stupefaction 
Mrs. Parker sailed into the room, having 
furbished herself fur the occasion with fresh 
and violent scent on her handkerchief. \ 
dashing female, with quantities of blazing 
vellow hair and round eves that stared and 
challenged ; a splendid presence, indeed, in 
this sober house. But not at all the expected 
type of a middle-aged comforter. Much inoiv 
like a firework. 

She excused her husband in a high London 
Original from 


1 5 o 


voice. He was obliged to be at his office. 
K very thing was in a muddle owing to things 
being left so long to the clerks, It really 
was time they came back, though how she 

was to endure this place ! Still, of course. 

with a motor— — ! Dull, did he say ? It 
was simply dreadful. She had always warned 
Jimmy that it would be too much for hen hut 
he had persuaded her at last. 

11 How lucky for him ! ?J said Robinson, 
politely. The lady agreed at once. 

41 Rather ! " she said. il Poor Jimmy! 
He must have proposed to me twenty times 
in the last two years ! ?T 

The accelerated clatter of a tea-tray 
approached. The bride was not going to 
allow her one visitor to escape her. She 
began moving things on the table. 

11 I have iust been looking through that 
album/' said Robinson, turning it over as 
carelessly as he could. " That is a striking 
photograph on the last page. I fancy I have 
seen the original/ 3 

She uttered a little shriek and closed the 

"Oh!" she said. "Don't you know ? 
It's Mr. Parker's niece who committed 
suicide. A shocking thing, wasn't it ? 
Haven't you heard about it ? It was in all 
the papers ! "* 

Eagerly she plunged into the story. His 
shocked countenance encouraged her to 
enlarge. He sat facing her across the gaudy 
little painted tea-cups (" a wedding present 
from one of my pals/ 1 she remarked) that 
surrounded the heavy silver pot. 

She poured out the whole history as 
Robinson had heard it from his fellow-parson, 
but with amplifications. He heard what 
a queer temper poor Kitty had, and what a 
drug on a girl it was to be tied by a long 
engagement. When a man she hadn't seen 
for years wrote suddenly wanting her to come 
out at once and be married, no wonder the 
poor girl was terrified. Men alter so. He 
mitfht have taken to drinking, he might even 
have grown a beard ! And she didn't dare 
to back out of it 3 because she was a religious 
girl, and she'd promised j and very likely he 
needed her bit of money. She wasn't 
dependent on her uncle — oh, dear, no ! Why, 
that heavy old tea-pot that made your arm 
ache belonged to her share ! And she'd never 
stirred an inch from home, If Jimmy had 
had a grain of sense he would have put his 
foot down and said if the man really wanted 
her he must come and fetch her. But he 

didn't think of it, and so— and so Well, 

it must have sent her crazy. Look at her 


artfulness, making up that story about the 
dog, when she went out to buy the poison ! 
Wasn't it awful how cunning a person could 
be, and yet not right in the head, of course ! 

Her ear-rings tinkled as she shook her head 
with an air of wisdom. Her eager relation 
was no more personal than that of anybody 
retailing the latest sensational case in the 
paper s— except in so far as she possessed the 
distinction of im!de knowledge. There was 
a certain pride in her glib recital. But she 
was utterly unaffected by any breath of super- 
stition, any hint of the supernatural hovering. 

" Did you know her well ? w said Robinson, 
trying to shake of! his strange feeling of 
mental numbness. 

u Oh, my goodness, no ! M she said. u 1 
never saw her. I didn't get engaged to 
Jimmy till it was all over, and he came up to 
town more dead than alive, poor fellow, and 
told me how his circumstances had changed ; 
and I was so sorry for him I just got married 
to him at once and off we went to Monte 
Carlo/ ' 

An incongruous picture presented itself to 
her listeners mind, the spectacle of this 
splendid person leading a dazed mourner by 
the scruff of his neck towards consolation. 
But the flicker of humour passed. 

" I should like to meet your husband/' he 
said. She took, or mistook, him to be severe. 

" I'm afraid we have both been naughty/' 
she said. " I know we have never been to 
church, and Mr. Parker a churchwarden, too I 
I used always to call him l the churchwarden T 
when I wanted to tease him — and he used to 
get red and say it was a very important office. 
I must really apologize. And the cook says 
nobody will call on me till we've appeared at 
church, I'll promise to bring him next Sunday 
evening. The cook says it used to be his turn 
to take round the plate at night . u 

Eagerly, but with condescension* she gave 
this undertaking to satisfy the conventions 
(the cook having omitted to point out the 
superior social stamp of Morning Service), 
and effusively she shook hands. Robinson 
got out of the house and into the empty street. 
His mind began to work slowly, in jerks^ like 
a jarred machine, 

// was Ike original of th t dead girls photo- 
graph he had seen. 

Something remarkably Lke panic shook 
him, He drew his hand across his forehead 
and found that it was wet. 

By an odd trick of memory his own involun- 
tary gesture reminded h*m nf Stackhouse, 
who had wiped the sweat from h : s brow like 
that when the charwoman complained that 
Original from 




her little girl had lieen telling lies. The 
insignificant incident, printed unconsciously 
on his brain, came back to him now with an 
unearthly meaning. He remembered that 
baby face, wide-eyed^ insistent, too young to 
explain, too little to understand. And he 
remembered a sleepy head supported safely 
within a protecting arm. 

" Good Lord I u he said, and his ruddy 
face was pale. 

It was a hot, full church* the atmosphere 
thick with the breath of humanity and the 
purring gas. Evening service was popular 
with the multitude , and a wet night had 
driven all and sundry who would have been 
taking walks in the lanes to the only alterna- 
tive, They pushed in, furling their dripping 
umbrellas and stacking them in the porch, 
till there was scarcely an inch of room in the 
middle aisle. And as the organ ceased 
rumbling and the packed congregation pre- 
pared to shout out the opening hymn a small, 
labbit-faced man came stealing up the 

In his wake, plumed and hatted and scented, 
advanced Mrs, Parker, making her triumphal 
entry. Indisputably there wail nobody in 
the church dressed like her. The man ushered 
her into her place, and took up his own, with 
a countenance of uneasy rapture t beside this 
tremendous fine bird he had somehow caged. 

Robinson, at the reading-desk, shot one 
furtive glance at the side aisle and withdrew 
his eyes. He was conscious of a mixed 
sensation of relief and of disappointment, 
His timorous look had travelled along rows 
of blank, unimportant faces, and seen nothing 
to send a shock to his sober sense. The 
appearance, whatever under God's mysterious 
providence it might be, was not there. He 
took heart to rate himself inwardly for 
a pusillanimous yielding to superstition* 
Obstinately he refused to let his attention 
wander and pinned his eyes to his book. 

The service wore on ? chant and psalm, 
prayer and preaching. He found himself 
halting unaccountably in the pulpit ; the 
terse, vigorous words he sought for became 
jumbled in his head, In his struggle to keep 
the thread of his discourse and be lucid he 
had to fight a growing horror of expectation, 
a kind of strange foreknowledge that pressed 
on him. His eyes searched the dim spaces 
while his tongue stumbled over platitudes, 
He tried vainly to pierce the veil of mystery 
that hung over the darkened church. It was 
not time yet. 

And then the glimmering lights went up. 

by L^OOgle 

She was there, in her place by the pillar, 
with her tragic eyes raised to him and the 
jewel glittering on her breast. All the other 
faces around her seemed indistinct, as if she 
alone were real — and yet the seat had been 
packed with worshippers standing up finding 
the places for the concluding hymn. Straight 
and still she stood among them, and, filled 
with a sense of i mpending climax, Robinson 
found it impossible to turn from gazing and 
go down the pulpit stairs He, too, waited, 
watching, holding his breath, while the organ 
struck up and the churchwardens began to 
take the collection under cover of a lusty, 
long-winded hymn. 

All at once, without consciously looking 
in that direction, he became aware that Mr. 
Parkers place was vacant. He saw the small, 
rabbit-faced man drawing himself up to lie 
stiff and pompous, carrying out his duty. 
Row after row he collected gravely, passing 
down the nave and coming up the side aisle. 
With a shock that staggered him for a moment 
the watcher realized that it was Mr. Parker's 
part to collect on that side of the church, 
Would nothing happen, or would he, too, l>e 
granted the power to see ? 

The people were swinging through the 
third verse to an under -current of tinkling 
pennies. Nearer and nearer the man 
approached. Mechanically the watcher in 
the pulpit counted. Three more rows — two 
more— he had nearly reached her, but had 
made no sign. One more row and then — 
crash! The plate of coins went spinning 
in all directions* The man lay still where 
he hud dropped on his face. 

He did not die immediately. The numbing 
paralysis took a little time to kill. But he 
lay like a trodden insect, muttering, mutter- 
ing. Blank terror was fixed immutably on 
his face. 

It was clear from his own words that he 
had murdered his niece, but even the doctors 
did not know how much was intelligent con- 
fession and how much the involuntary 
betrayal of a stricken brain automatically 
reeling off old thoughts and guarded secrets. 

4i Shell not have me, she'll not have me ; 
she says I'm not rich enough ■" 

That was his continual refrain, the fixed 
idea that had obsessed him, and that found 
utterance now at intervals, breaking even 
through the more coherent statements that 
had been taken down, 

" It was all Bill's fault. Why didn't he 
leave his money to me instead of the girl ? 

If I had it now"; if I had it ! That fool 

Original from 




of a girlj she thinks of nothing but her 
lover " 

Only for a moment the muttering voice 
wculd pause* Rob nson, watching beside 
him, would speak of the everlasting mercy, 

11 She'll not have me ; she'll not have me ; 
she says I'm not rich enough ! TJ and then, 
in the monotonous babble that was like a 
recitation, iL I d^d it. Draw up the legal 
documents. Put it down* They called it 
suicide, that's why she can't forgive mc* 
That's why she came, hook at her, reproach- 
ing me with her eyes ! Oh, my God, Kitty, 
take your eyes off me " 

On it wcnt 3 over and over, 

M I sent her to get the poison, I told her 
the deg had been run over in the street. I 
said 1 had shut it in the coach-house and the 
only merciful thing was to put it out of its 
pain, I told her to hurry and not to say 
anything to the servants— they would come 
bothering round, and they would not under- 
stand it was k'ndness And I took it 

from her and put it into her lemonade on ihe 
sideboard. It was so easy. Look at her, look 
at her, come back to curse me !" 

It was not hard to reconstruct the whole 
sordid story of a weak-minded man's infatua- 
tion and greed. It was also wiser, remem- 
bering Stackhouse and his horror of ktting 
his church be profaned by a sight-seeing 

crowd, to acquiesce in the public view that 
it was remorse that had brought on the strcke 
that killed Kitty's uncle. And so Robinson 
held his peace. 



Climbing for Goats. 


Illustrated by G- Henry Evison, 

M\ Stewart Edward White, one of the foremost of America's school of 
"open-air" novelists, has daring the last few years won a wide popularity 
in this country with his novels. ' The Blazed Trail/ 1 " Gold/' and other stories 
of pioneer life in the States, He is well-known, too, as a hunter of big game, 
and his two volumes describing his shooting expeditions in Africa—' The Land 
of Footprints'' and "African Camp Fires**— are writien in the racy, vivid 
style with which the following thrilling experience is told. Not long ago, ex- 
President Roosevelt paid Mr. White the tribute of saying that he was one of 
the finest shots he had ever encountered in all his African hunting trips. 

EAR the point at which the 

great Continental Divide of 

the Rocky Mountains crosses 

the Canadian border, another 

great range edges in toward 

it from the south. Between 

these ranges lies a space of 

irom twenty to forty miles, and midway 

between them flows a clear, wonderful river 

through dense forests. 

A wilder , lovelier, grander country would be 
hard to find. Save for the Forest Service and 
a handful of fur trappers it is uninhabited. 
Its streams abound in trout, its dense forests 
with elk and white-tailed deer, its balder hills 
with black- tailed deer, its upper basins with 
grizzly bears, its higher country with sheep 
and that dizzy climber, the Rocky Mountain 

He who would enter this region descends 
u.t a little station on the Great Northern, 
and thence proceeds by pack train at least four 
days, preferably more, out into the wilderness. 
It is a chilly journey. The frost has hardened 
the mud in the trail. One's feet and hands 
ache cruelly. At night camp is made near 
the banks of the river, whence always one 
may in a few moments catch as many trout 
as are needed — fine, big fighting trout. 

By the end of three or four days the prospect 
opens out. Tremendous cliffs rise sheer from 
the bottom of the valley ; up tributary canyons 
one can see a dozen miles to distant snow 
ranges glittering and wonderful, Nearer at 
hand the mountains rise above timber-line 
to great buttes and precipices. 

The First Climb. 
Fisher, Frank, and I had been hunting for 
elk in the dense forests along the foot of one of 
these mountains, and for a half day, drenched 

with sweat, had toiled cautiously up and down 
steep slopes j trying to go quietly, trying to 
keep our wind, trying to pierce the secrets of 
the leafy screen always about us. We were 
tired of it, 

H Let's go to the top and look for goats/' 
suggested Frank, " There are some goat cliffs 
on the other side of her. It isn't very far." 

It was not very far, as measured by the 
main ranges, but it was a two hours' steady 
climb, nearly straight up. We would toil 
doggedly for a hundred feet, or until our 
wind gave out and our hearts began to pound 
distressingly, then we would rest a moment. 
After doing this a few hundred times we would 
venture a look upward, confidently expecting 
the summit to be close at hand. It seemed as 
far off as ever. We suffered a dozen or so o£ 
these disappointments, and then learned not 
to look up. This was only after we had risen 
above timber-line to the smooth, rounded 
rock and grass shoulder of the mountain. 
Then three times we made what we thought 
was a last spurt, only to find ourselves on 
a i( false summit." After a while we grew 
resigned- We realized that we were never 
going to get anywhere, but were to go on 
for ever, without ultimate purpose and with- 
out hope, pushing with tired legs, gasping 
with inadequate lungs. When we had fully 
made up our minds to that, we arrived. 
This is typical of all high mountain-climbing 
— the dogged, hard, hopeless work that can 
never reach an accomplishment, and then at 
last the sudden unexpected culmination. 

We topped a gently rounding summit, took 
several deep breaths into the uttermost cells 
of our distressed lungs, walked forward a 
dozen steps, and found ourselves looking over 
the sheer brink of a precipice. So startlingly 
unforeseen was the swoop into blue space 






that I recoiled hastily, feeling a 
little dizzy. Then I recovered, and 
stepped forward cautiously for 
another look. As with all sheer 
precipices, the lip on which we 
stood seemed slightly to overhang, 
so that in order to see one had 
apparently to crane away over, 
quite off balance. Only by the 
strongest effort of the will is one 
able to rid oneself of the notion 
that the centre of gravity is about 
to plunge one off head-first into 
blue space. For it was fairly blue 
space below our precipice. We 
could see birds wheeling below us, 
and then below them again, very 
tiny, the fall away of talus, and 
the tops of trees in the basin 

Across the face of the cliff below 
us ran irregular tiny ledges ; but- 
tresses ended in narrow peaks : 
" chimneys " ran down irregularly 
to the talus. Here were supposed 
to dwell the goats. 

We proceeded along the crest, 
spying eagerly. We saw tracks, 
but no animals. By now it was 
four o'clock, and past time to 
turn camp wards. We struck down 
the mountain on a diagonal that 
should take us home. For some 
distance all went well enough. To 
be sure, it was very steep, and 
we had to pay due attention to 
balance and sliding. Then a rock 
wall barred our way. It was not 
a very large rock wall We went 
below it. After a hundred yards 
we struck another. By now the 
first had risen until il towered 
far above us, a sheer grey cliff 
behind which the sky was very 
blue. We skirted the* base of the 
second and lower cliff. It led us 
to another, and still another. Each 
of these we passed on the talus 
beneath it, but with increasing 
difficulty, owing to the fact that 
the wide ledges were pinching out. 
At last we found ourselves cut off 
from farther progress. To our right 
rose tier after tier of great cliffs, 
serenely and loftily unconscious of 
any little insects like ourselves that 
might be pottering around their 
feet* Straight ahead the ledge 
ceased, to exist To our left was 

jinal rrom 



u hundred-foot drop to the talus that sloped 
down to the canyon* That canyon did not 
look so very far away, and we desired mightily 
to reach it. The only alternative to getting 
straight down was to cl mb back the weary 
way we had come^ and that meant all night 
without food 3 warm clothing, or shelter on 
a snow and ice mountain. 

Therefore we scouted that hundred- foot 
drop to our left very carefully. It seemed 
hopeless, but at last I found a place where a 
point of the talus ran up to a level not much 
l}elow our own. The only difficulty was that 
between ourselves and that point of talus 
extended a piece of sheer wall. I slung my 
rifle over my back and gave myself to a 
serious consideration of that wall. Then I 
began to work out across its face. 

The principle of safe climbing is to main- 
tain always three points of suspension. That 
is to say, one should keep either both foot- 
holds and one handhold, or both handholds 
and one foothold. Failing that, one is taking 
long chances. With this firmly in mind, 
I spidered out across the wall, testing every 
projection and cranny before I trusted any 
weight to it One apparently solid projection 
as big as my head came away at the first 
touch and went bouncing off into space. 
Finally I stood , or rather sprawled, almost 
tvithin arm's length of a tiny scrub pme 
growing solidly in a crevice just over the 
talus. Once there, our troubles were over ; 
but there seemed no way of crossing. For 
the moment it actually looked as though four 
feet only would be sufficient to turn us back. 

At last j however, 1 found a toe-hold half- 
way across. It was a very slight crevice , and 
not over two inches deep* The toe of a boot 
would just hold there without slipping. 
Unfortunately there were no handholds above 
it. After thinking the matter over, however } 
1 made up my mind to violate, for this occa- 
sion only, the rules for climbing, I inserted 
the toe 3 gathered myself, and with one smooth 
swoop swung myself across and grabbed that 
tiny pine. 

Fisher now worked his way out and crossed 
in the same manner. But Frank was too 
heavy for such gymnastics. Fisher therefore 
took a firm grip on the pine, inserted his toe 
in the crevice^ and hung on with all his strength 
while Frank crossed on his shoulders ! 

The Second and Third Climb*. 

Once more, lured by the promise of the 

tracks we had seen, we climbed this same 

mountain, but again without results. By 

now, you may be sure, we had found an easier 

by L^OOgle 

way horn'*. This was a very hard day's work, 
but uneventful. 

Now, four days later, I crossed the river, 
and set off alone to explore in the direction of 
the Continental Divide, Of course^ I had no 
intention of climbing for goats, or indeed of 
hunting very hard for anything- My object 
was an idle go-look-see. Equally of course , 
after I had tramped around most happily 
for a while up the wooded stream-bed of that 
canyon T I turned sharp to the right and began- 
to climb the slope of the spur, running out 
at right angles to the main ranges, that con- 
stituted one wall of my canyon. It was fifteen 
hundred nearly perpendicular feet of hard 
scrambling through windfalls, Then, when I 
had gained the ridge, I thought I might as 
well keep along it a little distance. And then, 
naturally 3 I saw the main peaks not so very 
far away, and was in for it. 

On either side of me the mountain dropped 
away abruptly. I walked on a knife-edge T 
steeply rising. Great canyons yawned close 
at either hand, and over across were leagues 
of snow mountains. 

In the canyon from which I had emerged a 
fine rain had been falling. Here it had turned 
to wet sleet. As I mounted, the slush under 
foot grew firmer, froze, then changed to dry 
powdery snow. This change was interesting 
and beautiful, but rather uncomfortable, for 
my boots , soaked through by the slush, now 
froze solid and scraped various patches of 
skin from my feet. 

The ridge mounted steadily. After I had 
gained to two thousand three hundred feet 
above the canyon I found that the ridge dipped 
to a saddle six hundred feet lower. 1 1 really 
grieved me to give up that hard-earned six 
hundred, and then to buy it back again by 
another hard, slow, toilsome climb. Again 1 
found my way barred by some unsuspected 
cliffs about sixty feet in height. Fortunately 
they were well broken, and I worked my way 
to the top by means of ledges. 

Atop this the snow suddenly grew deeper 
and the ascent more precipitous. 1 fairly 
wallowed along. In spite of my heavy 
exertions I began to feel the cold, so I unslung 
my rucksack and put on my buckskin shirt. 
The snow had become very light and feathery* 
The high, still buttes and crags of the main 
divide were right before me, Light fo<^ 
wreaths drifted and eddied slowly , now con- 
cealing and revealing the solemn crags and 
buttresses* Over everything — the rocks, the 
few stunted and twisted small trees, the very 
surface of the snow itself — lay a heavy rime 
of frost. This rime stood out in long, slender 


r 5 6 


water No thirst is quite so torturing as 
that which afflicts one who climbs hard in 
cold high altitudes. The throat and mouth 
seem to shrivel and parch. Psychologically 
it is even worse than the desert thirst, 
because in cold air it is so unreasonable. 
Finally it became so unendurable that I 
turned down from the spur-ridge long before 
1 should otherwise have done so, and did 
a good deal of extra work merely to reach 
a little sooner the stream at the bottom oi 
the canyon. When I reached it, I found 
that here it flowed underground* 

needles an inch to an inch and a half in 
length, sparkling and fragile and beautiful. 
It seemed that a breath of wind or even 
a loud sound would precipitate this glitter- 
ing panoply to ruin ; but in all the really 
awesome silence and hushed breath less - 
ness of that strange upper world there 
was nothing to disturb them- The only 
motion was that of the idly drifting fog- 
wreaths ; the only sound was that made 
by the singing of the blood in my ears. 
I felt as though I were in a world holding 
its breath. 

It was piercing cold, I ate a biscuit and 
a few prunes, tramping energetically to 
and fro to keep warm. I could scl j in all 
directions now — an infinity of bare peak*, 
with hardly a glimpse of forests or 
streams or places where things might 
live. Goats are certainly cither fools or 
great poets. 

After a half -hour of fruitless examina- 
tion of the cliffs I perforce had to descend* 
The trip back was long. It had the added 
interest in that it was bringing me nearer 

V.! 1 , W# F. .1 i"M 

"U/f 1 ,"117 i 


^ Google 





Other Climb*. 

For ten days we hunted and fished* When 
the opportunity offered* we made a goat- 
survey of a new place Finally, as time grew 
short , we realized that we must concentrate 
our energies in one effort, if we were to get 
specimens of this most desirable of all 
American big game. Therefore Fisher, Frank, 
Harry, and I, leaving our other two com- 
panions and the majority of the horses at 
the base camp, packed a few days' pro- 
visions and started in for the highest peaks 
of all. 

We journeyed up an unknown canyon 
eighteen miles long, heavily wooded in the 
bottoms, with great mountains overhanging, 
and with a beautiful clear trout stream 
singing down its bed* The first day we 
travelled ten hours. One man was always 
in front cutting out windfalls or other obstruc- 
tions, I should be afraid to guess how many 
trees we chopped through that day* Another 
man scouted ahead for the best route amid 
difficulties. The other two performed the 
soul-destroying task of getting the horses to 
follow the appointed way. After three o'clock 
we began to hope for horse-feed. At dark 
we reluctantly gave it up. The forest remained 
unbroken* We had to tie the poor unfed 
horses to trees, while we ourselves searched 
diligently and with only partial success for 
tiny spots level enough for our beds. It was 
very cold that night, and nobody was com- 
fortablej the horses least of alL 

Next morning we were out and away by 
daylight. If we could not find horse -feed 
inside of four hours, we would be forced to 
retreat. Three hours of the four went by. 
Then Harry and 1 held the horses white our 
companions scouted ahead rapidly. We nearly 
froze, for in that deep valley the sun did not 
rise until nearly noon, Through an opening 
we could see back to a tremendous sheer butte 
rising over three thousand feet* by a series 
of very narrow terraced ledges, We named it 
the Citadel, so like was it to an ancient proud 

Fisher reported first. He had climbed a 
tree, but had seen no feed. Ten minutes later 
Frame returned. He had found the track 
of an ancient avalanche close under the moun- 
tain, and in that track grew coarse grasses. 
We pushed on, and there made camp. 

It was a queer enough camp. Our beds we 
spread in the various little spots among the 
roots and hummocks we imagined to look the 
most even. The fire we had to build in quite 

* Three ihouwind thr« hundred and fifty T«i lo be ex Act* 
We later matured it- 


another place, AH around us the lodge pole 
pines, firs, and larches drew cfose and dark 
and damp. Only to the west the snow ranges 
showed among the tree-tops like great looming 
white clouds. 

For two days we lived high among the 
glaciers and snow crags, taking tremendous 
tramps, seeing wonderful peaks, frozen lakes, 
sheer cliffs, the tracks of grizzlies in numbers, 
the tiny sources of great streams, and the 
infinity of upper spaces. But no goats , and 
no tracks of goats, Little by little we 
eliminated the possibilities of the country 
accessible to us. Leagues in all directions, 
as far as the eye could reach, was plenty of 
other country, all equally good for goats , but 
it was not within reach of us from this canyon 
and our time was up. Finally we dropped 
back and madp camp at the last feed, a mile 
or so below the Citadel. Two ranges at right 
angles here converged, and the Citadel rose 
like a tower at the corner- Here was our last 

Goats 1 

As we were finishing breakfast my eye was 
attracted to a snow speck some two thousand 
feet above us and slightly eastward, that 
somehow looked to me different from other 
snow specks. For nearly a minute I stared 
at it through my glasses* At last the speck 
moved* The game was in sight ! 

We drew straws for the shot, and Fisher 
won. Then we hegan our climb. It was the 
same old story of pumping lungs and pounding 
hearts, but with the incentive before us we 
made excellent time. A shallow ravine and 
a fringe of woods afforded us the cover we 
needed At the end of an hour and a halt we 
crawled out of our ravine and to the edge of 
the trees. There across a steep canyon, and 
perhaps four hundred yards away, were the 
goats , two of them, lying on the edge ot small 
cliffs. We could see them very plainly, hut 
they were too far for a sure shot. After 
examining them to our satisfaction we wormed 
our way back. 

" The only sure way," I insisted, " is to 
climb clear to the top of the ridge, go along it, 
on the other side, until we are above and 
beyond the goats, and then to stalk them 
down hill." 

That meant a lot more hard work, but in 
the end the plan \Vas adopted. We resumed 
our interminable and toilsome climbing* 

The ridge proved to be of the knifc-ed^e 
variety, and covered with snow. From a deep, 
wide, walled-in basin on the other side rose 
the howling of two brush wolves. We 
descended a few feel to gain salr rom raiment, 
Origin aifrorn 




the greatest satisfaction, I dropped the gold 
bead of my front sight on his shoulder. 

The bullets knocked him off the edge of the 
cliff. He fel! T struck the steep grass slope, 
and began to roll Over and over he went, 
gathering speed like a snow ball t 
getting smaller and smailer, until 
he disappeared in the brush far 
below, a tiny spot of white. 

No one can appreciate the feeling 
of relaxed relief that filled me. 
Hard and dangerous climbs, killing 
work* considerable hardship and 
discomfort had at length their 
reward. I could now take a rest. 
The day was young, and I contem- 
plated with something 
like rapture a return to 
camp, and a good pot- 
ten- day skinning that 
goat. In addition I wiii 

walked as rapidly as possible to the point 
above the gouts, and then, with the utmost 
caution, began our descent. 

In the last two hundred yards is the 
essence of big-game stalking. The hunter 
must move noiselessly , he must keep concealed, 
he must determine at each step just what the 
effect of that step has been in the matters of 
noise and of altering the point of view. It is 
necessary to spy sharply, not only from the 
normal elevations of a man's shoulders, but 
also stooping to the waist-line, and even down 
to the knees. An animal is just as suspicious 
of legs as of heads, and much more likely to 
see them. 

The shoulder of the mountain here consisted 
of a series of steep grass curves 3 ending in 
short cliff jump-offs. Scattered and stunted 
trees and tree-groups grew here and there, 
In thirty minutes we had made our distance 
and recognized the fact that our goats must 
be lying at the base of the nfcxt ledge. Motion- 
ing Harry to the left and Fisher to the front, 
I myself moved to the right to cut off the game 
should it run in that direction. Ten seconds 
later I heard Fisher shoot, then Harry , opened 
up, and in a moment a goat ran across the 
ledge fifty yards below me. With a thrill of 




suffering irom a splitting headache, the effects 
of incipient snow- blindness, and was generally 
pretty wobbly, 

And then my eye wandered to the left, 
whence that goat had come. I saw a large 
splash of blood, at a spot before I had fired ! 
It was too evident that the goat had already 
been wounded by Fisher, and therefore, by 
hunters' law t belonged to him, 

I set my teeth, and turned up the mountain 
to regain the descent we had just made. 
At the knife-edge top I stopped for a moment 
to get my breath and to survey the country. 
Diagonally across the basin where the wolves 
were howling, half-way down the ridge running 
at right angles to my own, I made out two 
goats. They were two miles away from me 
on an air - line, My course was devious,. 
I must proceed along my ridge to the Citadel, 
keeping always out of sight, surmount thuc 
Original from 




fortress, descend to the second ridge, walk 
along the other side of it until I was above 
those goats , and then sneak down on them. 

I accomplished the first two stages of my 
journey all right, though with considerably 
more difficulty in spots than I should have 
anticipated. The knife-edge was so sharp 
and the sides so treacherous that at times it 
was almost impossible to travel anywhere but 
right on top. This would not do, By a little 
planning, however, I managed to reach the 
central " keep " of the Citadel, a high, bleak, 
broken pile, flat on top, with snow in all the 
crevices, and small cliffs on all sides. From 
this advantage 1 could cautiously spy out 
the lie of the land. 

Below me fifty feet dipped the second ridge, 
funning nearly at right angles. It sloped 
abruptly to the wolf basin, but fell sheer on 
the other side to depths I could not at that 
time guess,* A very few scattered, stunted, 
and twisted trees huddled close down to the 
rock and snow. The saddle was about fifty 
feet in width, and perhaps five hundred 
yards in length. It ended in another craggy 
butte, very much like the Citadel 
My first glance determined that my original 

plan would not do. 

The goats had 

climbed from where 
. I had first sten 
, rt them and were 

leisurely topping 

lying on the snow at the very edge of the cliff, 
a tremendous billy. k He had been there all 
the time, and 1 had been looking over him. 

At the crack of the Springfield he lurched 
forward and toppled slowly out of sight over 
the edge of the cliff. The two I had been 
stalking instantly disappeared. But on the 
very top of the butte opposite appeared 
another. It was a very long shot,* but I had 
to take chances, for I could not tell whether 
or not the one I had just shot was accessible 
or not. On a guess I held six inches over his 
back; The 1 goat gave one leap forward into 
space* For twenty feet he fell spread-eagled 
and right side up as though flying. Then he 
began to turn and whirl. As far as my 
personal testimony could go, he is falling 
yet through that dizzy blue abyss. 

11 Good-bye , billy/ 5 said l 3 sadly. It looked 
then as -though 1 had lost both. 

I worked my way down the face of the 
Citadel ? until I was just above the steep snow- 
fields. Here was a drop of six feet. If 
the snow was soft, all right. If it was frozen 
underneath, I should be very likely to 
toboggan off into space. I pried loose a 
small rock and dropped it, watching with 
great interest how it lit. It sank with a dull 
plunk. Therefore 1 made my leap, and found 
myself waist deep in feathery snow. 

With what anxiety I peered over the edge 
of that precipice the reader can guess. Thirty 
feet below was a four- foot ledge. On the 

* Somewhere- bcl*ecn fivi* hundred and aevrn 
huud r- d yards. 1 Am very prACHwd at pacing and 

Biiew-ins sue 1 1 ui&lances. 


the saddle. To attempt to 
descend would be to reveal 
myself- I was forced to huddle 
just where I was. My hope was 
that the goats would wander along the 
saddle toward me, and not climb the other 
butte opposite. Also I wanted them to 
hurry , pleasej as the snow in which I sat 
was cold and the wind piercing. 

This apparently they were not inclined 
to do. They paused, they nibbled at some 
scanty moss, they gazed at the scenery, 
they scratched their ears, I shifted my 
position cautiously, and saw below me,f 

•Three thousand three hundred and fifty ffet— later 

| Three hundred and fifty-five pace &. 

by Google 




edge of that ledge grew two stunted pines 
about three feet in height— and only two. 
Against those pines my goat had lodged. 
In my exultation I straightened up and 
uttered a whoop* To my surprise it was 
answered from behind me. Frank had 
followed my trail. He had killed a nanny, 
and was carrying the head. Everybody had 

After a great deal ot manoeuvring we worked 
our way down to the ledge by means of a 
crevice and a ten- foot pole. Then we tied 
the goat to the little trees and set to work. 
I held Frank while he skinned, and then he 
held me while I skinned* It was very awkward. 
The tiny landscape almost directly beneath 
us was blue with the atmosphere of distance. 
A solitary raven discovered us, and began 
to circle and croak and flop. 

" You'll get your meal later, " we told him. 

Far below us, like suspended leaves swirling 
in a wind, a dense flock of snow-birds fluttered. 

Wc got on well enough until it became 
necessary to sever the backbone. Then, try 
as we would, we could not in the general 
awkwardness reach a joint with a knife. At 
last we had a bright idea, I held the head 
back while Frank shot the vertebra in two 
with his rifle. 

Then we loosed the cords that held the 
body. It fell six hundred feet, hit a ledge, 
bounded out, and so disappeared toward the 
hazy blue map below. The raven folded his 
wings and dropped like a plummet, with a 
strange rushing sound. We watched him 
until the increasing speed of his swoop turned 
us a little dizzy ^ and we drew back. When we 
looked a moment later he had disappeared 
into the distance, straight down. 

Now we had to win our way out. The 
trophy we tied with a rope, I climbed up the 
pole, and along the crevice as far as the rope 
would let me, hauled up the trophy, Jamming 
my feet and back against both sides of the 
" chimney." Frank then clambered past me, 
and so repeat. 

But once in the saddle we lound we could 
not return the way we had come. The drop- 
off into the feather snow settled that. A short 
reconnaissance made it very evident that we 
would have to go completely round the out- 
side of the Citadel , at the level of the saddle, 
until we had gained the other ridge. This 
meant about three-quarters of a mile against 
the tremendous cliff. 

We found a ledge and started. Our pacta 
weighed about sixty pounds apiece, and we 
were forced to carry them rather high. The 
ledge proved to be from six to ten feet wide, 
with a gentle slope outwards. We could not 
afford the false steps, nor the little slips, nor 
the o verba lane ings so unimportant on level 
ground. Progress was slow and cautious. 
We could not but remember the heart- 
stopping drop of that goat after we had cut 
the rope, and the swoop of the raven. 
Especially at £he corners did we hug close 
to the wall, for the wind there snatched at 
us eagerly. 

The ledge held out bravely. It had to, 
for there was no possible way to get up o: 
down from it. We rounded the shoulder of 
the pile, Below us now was another land- 
scape into which to fall — the valley of the 
stream, with its forests and its high cliffs over 
the way. But already we could see our ridge. 
Another quarter of a mile would land us in 

Without warning the ledge pinched out. 
A narrow tongue of shale, on so steep a slope 
that it barely clung to the mountain, ran 
twenty feet to a precipice. A touch sent its 
surface rattling merrily down and into space. 
It was only about eight feet across, and then 
the ledge began again. 

We eyed it. Three steps would take us 
across. Alternative, return along the ledge 
to attack the problem a b initio. 

1 That shale is going to start/' said Frank. 
" If you stop, she'll sure carry you over the 
edge. But if you keep right on going— 
fast — I believe your weight will carry you 

We readjusted our packs so they could not 
slip and overbalance us. We measured and 
rerneasured with our eyes just where those 
steps would fall. We took a deep breath — 
and we hustled. Behind us the fine shale 
slid sullenly in a miniature avalanche that 
cascaded over the edge. Our weight had 
carried us through ! 

In camp wc found that Harry's shooting 
had landed a kid, so that we had a goat 

We rejoined the main camp next day Just 
ahead of a big snow-storm that must have 
made travel all but impossible. Then for 
five days we rode out, in snow, sleet, and haiL 
But we were entirely happy, and indifferent to 
what the weather could do to us now. 

by Google 

Original from 


cJ-<J -BELL 


OWARDS midnight the rain 
ceased, the air seemed to 
become suddenly colder. A 
thin fog gathered cm the 
Belgian plain surrounding the 
village which, like so many 
others, had recently suffered 
a senseless bombardment. To the village 
now so silent came fitfully the dull booming 
of distant guns and the ceaseless murmur 
of a swollen river. 

In one of the houses still habitable, though 
damaged as to its front apartments, a dark- 
haired young woman stood by the kitchen 
dresser, in the light of a couple of candles, 
and read, not for the first time, a letter which, 
apparently, had been folded originally into 
the smallest possible compass, She was a 
handsomely- built young woman, and her 
present pallor and patent anxiety scarcely 
detracted from the charms of her features. 
Her lips moved to the written words, as 
though she were learning them by heart, 
which, as a matter of fact, she had done hours 
ago. At last she refolded the letter, put it 
carefully in her bosom, and, shaking her head, 
murmured \ " Long past the hour. He will 
not come now. He dare not* The good 

VoL L-21. 

God grant that they have not captured him/* 
She began to pace the floor, her head drooping, 
her fingers locked in front of her* 

The kitchen was spacious but barely fur- 
nished. The Prussians in occupation of the 
village during the past three weeks had 
helped themselves — giving receipts, of course. 
A broad dresser with racks of dishes and a tall 
cupboard stood against one wall ; a stove 
projected from the wall opposite 1 wherein 
was a door leading to the rest of the house. 
The door to the yard was placed between 
wide, squat windows draped with dark- 
coloured curtains, which, however, were un- 
drawn. Under one window stood a table 
with a red cloth ; under the other a sewing- 
machine of the sort that may hv. worked by 
hand or foot, A coarse rug lay in front of 
the stove, another in the midst of the flagged 
floor. There were; cracks in the walls and 

The young woman did not pace the floor 
for long. With a start she stopped short, 
all on the alert. But her glance readied the 
nearer window a fraction of a second too late 
to detect a man's face being withdrawn. As 
she stood listening intently the door was 
cautiously opened, l^^yj^ung soldier, his 




ragged dark blue uniform soaked and muddy, 
stepped in, 

" Jules ! " she exclaimed, ; n a whisper, half 
joyous _, half fearful. 

He glanced swiftly about him* closed the 
door as cautiously as he had opened it. laid 
down a bundle wrapped in sacking, and 
pocketed a revolver. With a rush he took 
the girl in his arms. 

" Louise ! Louise ! After those long 
weeks " 

For a too brief space they exchanged sweet 
incoherences. Then the girl gently put him 
from her. 

"Jules, you must not waste a moment. 
When yon did not come by eleven ,J 

" How long am I safe here ? " 

if Oh, th^re is no safety here for you* At 
any moment—" 

" Your letter made me understand that 
the two Germans never came bark before 
midnight. 1 am late, I know— almost too 
late. The way was difficult in the darkness 
They seem to have doubled their sentries*" 

" It is near midnight now, Jules, See ! " 
She pointed to the clock* t( Suppose the 
Germans were to come in before their usual 
time ! " 

He kissed her and laughed reassuringly. 
" Five minutes will suffice, if you have done 
all that my letter asked/' 

" It is done, though I was puzzled " 

" No doubt*" He laughed again* '■ Well " 
—briskly — ( * I'll get to work. Help me, 
Louise* first by bolting the door and drawing 
the curtains* 1 " He picked up the bundle and 
folded back the rug on the middle of the floor* 

She took a step towards the door and halted* 
hesitating. " Jules, it is against the regula- 
tions to bolt doors and draw curtains* They 
have been very cruel to people for less/' 

" Their cruelty is near its end*" he said, 
grimly, dropping to his knees and untying 
the bundle* 4l Cherie, do what I ask* One 
must take risks for Belgium/' 

Without further delay she obeyed the 
request. Thereafter she drew near and stood 
watching him. From the bundle he took 
several tools, also an oblong box with a 
grooved wheel at one end- 

* What is that, Jules ? " she inquired, in 
the low voice that seemed to have become 

" An electric battery." He closely ex- 
amined the dusty floor ; then with one of the 
tools he prised up a flagstone. His face 
lightened. " All in order ! ^ he remarked. 
and drew from the recess a short coil of thin, 
rubber-covered cable. 

Digitized by GOOQ I C 

" What is it, Jules ? " 

" The wire we laid — Jacques and I— just 
before the Germans came," 

" Oh, Jacques/' she sighed, " my poor 

" He died for Belgium/' said the young 
man, softly, " but his good work remains." 
He let the stone back into its place (a tiny 
groove had been cut in its edge for the passage 
of the cable) and proceeded to screw the ends 
of the wires to the battery. '* Where is old 
Marie ? " he asked, casually, " Upstairs, 
asleep ? " 

Louise did not answer at once. When she 
spoke, it was unsteadily, " Old Marie lies 
upstairs — dead. This morning, lx*fore it was 
light, she went outside for water. She was 
shot — in mistake for a spy, they said." 

tL The crazy devils ! Yet the boy who 
carried our letters came through them safe* 
Poor old Marie ! Well* she also shall lie 
avenged." He replaced the edge of the rug 
over the recently-disturbed flag and rose. 
° Now for that happy thought of mine, the 
sewing-machine. Ah, Louise, how I puzzled 
my brains before I struck the idea ! " 

11 I also have been puzzling*" she said, with 
a faint smile. "Why -?" 

" Soon you will understand. Come, help 
me once more." 

Between them they brought the machine 
to the rug, adjusting its position there to a 
nicety* and again he went down on his knees. 
The foot -gearing had been removed, tbe 
machine itself put in order for hand- work* 
Where the footplate had been Jules placed 
the battery , and made it fast and rigid with 
cord. Finally, and carefully* he fitted a thin 
round belting over the wheel of the machine 
and under that of the battery. Sinking back 
on his heels, he contemplated his performance 
with unfeigned satisfaction. "Louise," he 
said, " to-night * before 1 started, my captain 
embraced me, saying* * Do thi.s, Jules, and 
Belgium will remember your name*' But it 
shall be our names together, my girl ! " 

" But what does it — — ?" Louise began* 
and laid her fingers on the handle. 

Like a shot he was up and snatched her 
away from the machine. 

^Bieui** he gasped. "Not yet I Too 
soon would ruin everything ! " Next moment 
he kissed her reassuringly. " Dearest* you 
shall know all in a moment. Now to make 
our work look very, very innocent. A cloth 
—that on the table will do*" 

She brought it to him* Between them they 
hung it round the edges of the machine-stand 
and he fastened it lightly with a nail or two, 





v v ^h rnnnL Original from 




He stood back, regarding the result admir- 
ingly. <4 Innocent indeed ! " he exclaimed. 

" Yes, but " Breaking off, she ran 

over to the dresser, opened a drawer, and 
came back with a small heap of sewing, which 
she laid beside the machine, " A little more 
innocent, is it nut, Jules ? 7 ' 

" Bravo ! Allow a woman IV He got a 
chair and placed it in position for working 
the machine. "Allans I It is finished ! 7J 
He picked up the sacking and tools and cast 
them into a press under the dresser. 

At that moment fear returned upon the 

" Jules, you must go I The peril is too great." 

He slipped his arm about her waist, " Yes, 
the time grows short. But before I go I must 
explain. Listen, chifie" He threw his free 
arm in the direction of the nearer window. 
" Out yonder is the great bridge that was our 
misfortune three weeks ago." He made a 
gesture in the opposite direction, "Away 
yonder is our new hope — three thousand 
brave men, hiding, alert, waiting for a signal ! " 

" Oh, Jules, but what can three thousand 

do ? '* 

" Much — -if the Germans on this side of the 
river lose communication with their friends 
on the other side. They will be caught in a 
trap — men. guns, stores, and alh But there is 
more I" he went on, unable wholly to repress 
his excitement. " To-night — within the next 
hour — the Germans will bring over the bridge 
five great new guns to harass our English 
allies on the coast. Those guns must not 
reach this side— at least as German guns, 
Now you can guess ! " 

She clasped her hands. " Jules/ 1 she 
whispered, ** the bridge is mined ! " 

" It is so. The mines ought to have been 
sprung three weeks ago, yet they will cost 
the Germans more dear to-night. Come and 
see.'* He led her close to the machine and 
lightly touched its handle, * + A dozen quick 
turns— that is all/ 1 He paused, looking 
deep into her eyes. lt Louise, I must go now 
and tell our friends that all is prepared* If 
— if I do not return in time — \i anything 
happens to prevent my reaching this house — 
will you deal a blow for Belgium ? " Again 
he touched the handle. 

She clung to him. I( I will do it— for you 
and Belgium, But 3 oh, love, you will come 
back to me ! " 

11 Then we shall win ! Your signal will he 
a single stroke on the church bell, lie ready. 
Act promptly. The good God sustain you ! n 

u And go with you, and bring you back to 
me!" she sobbed, in Ils embrace. 

The clock began to strike* 

" Midnight ! n she criedj in a panic. €i Fly, 
dearest ! " 

He tore himself from hen *' Farewell, 
Louise, farewell.'* He ran to the door, 
opened it quietly, peered into the night — the 
door closed behind him. 

Louise stood motionless, her hand to her 
heart. *' Guard him — guard him ! " she 

Next moment she was hastily drawing back 
the curtains. That done, she seated herself 
in the chair by the machine, and bowed her 
head in her hands. 

Not far away a rifle cracked— again — and 
yet again. She sprang up as if to make for 
the door, and relapsed. 

Heavy footsteps approached the house. A 
voice unpleasantly familiar said ; " Another of 
those stupid spies got more than he wanted. 
Well, gute nacht ; gute nacht. Sleep well." 

Louise sat up, found a needle with a thread 
in it, and made a feint of sewing. 

Another voice replied, " Gute nacht, 
Blutncr," and the sound of retreating foot- 
steps followed* The door was flung open and 
Blutner, one of the two Prussian officers who 
had made their quarters in the house , entered. 
He was a good-looking young fellow, bright - 
eyed and fair, and, as would be seen present ly, 
his uniform bore few traces of hard service. 
He slammed the door behind him and* without 
a glance at the figure by the machine, strode 
over to the stove, 

" Curse the cold ! M he muttered, removing 
his gloves and heavy coat, which he threw 
behind him on the table. There also he 
placed his helmet. He unfastened his sword- 
bt It and hung it over the hack of a chair, into 
which he dropped, placing his feet on another. 
He yawned, stretched his arms, and yawned 

Q.s embrace. 

* l Bring wine ! " he suddenly commanded, 
in French. 

Louise's head went up with a haughty jerk, 
and dropped back to sewing level. 

After a pause — " Bring wine, I say ! " 
The words were out before he turned his eyes 
to enforce them. He seemed somewhat 
taken aback. " I ask pardon, Fraulein, 
The .servant — where is she ? " 

Louise rose. The faintness had passed. 
She would do her duty, 
wine," she said, in a restrained voice 
servant is dead. 1 ' 

u Him met 1 I had forgotten." he mur~ 
mo red, and got up quickly. 1( I will fetch 
the wine for myself, I know where it is 
kept. M 


i will bring you 



She resumed her seat, and he crossed the 
floor to the tall cupboard, where he provided 
himself with a couple of bottles and a tumbler; 
Carrying these to the stove, he drew one of 
the corks with the screw in his knife. He 
filled the tumbler and seated himself, remark- 
in g pleasantly : — 

L You remain up late to-night , Fraulein, 
You have work to do, I see/' He drank as 
one thirsty, 

" Yes,' 1 she said, without raising her eyes, 
(E I have work to do* Your room is quite 
ready for you." 

** I thank you. But you do not so often 
honour this room, Fraulein/' 

" The rain comes into my own room, and 
fuel is scarce. To-morrow I will seek a room 
in another house," She felt it necessary to 
talk, to hold his attention to herself. 

" Not so, I beg of you/ r he said, politely. 
" My comrade and 1 leave this place to- 
morrow, 1 will see to it that no others shall 
be quartered upon you in future. This is 
your home. It shall be respected/' He 
gazed at her admiringly, and raised the 
tumbler as if he would drink her health. 
However, she appeared to be intent on her 
seam, and with a shrug of his shoulder he 
tossed off the wine. Having refilled the 
tumbler, he continued: M lie fore I go 
to-morrow I will give you a receipt for all 
we may have consumed in this house, Ger- 
many is honest, and will pay for everything/' 

Now she faced him. Her voice came quiet 
but incisive. li Truly , If sieu, Germany shall 
pay for much/' 

The significance of the words, or their 
tone, escaped him. "For every thing/' he 
repeated, easily, "When this war is over 
Germany will be rich enough to " 

Still quietly, she interrupted him. " My 
father, too feeble to fight, beaten to death by 
drunken soldiers ; my brother killed by a 
shell thrown on an undefended village ; my 
mother and little brother beggars in Holland ; 
my young sister — the good God knows 

where ; my fiance I ask you, M'sieu, 

how shall Germany pay for these ? ?) 

He made a gesture of impatience. u In 
war, Fraulein, there is bound to be suffering 
and sadness/' 

44 There is nothing else/' She raised her 
voice slightly, u Is it true that you German 
soldiers are taught to leave lis nothing but 
our eyes to weep with ? " 

'* The words are those of one of our greatest 

" Your Kaiser ? " 

Nein f But- 

by Google 

" The man must have been greater than 
his souL Nothing but eyes to weep with ! 
That is all your Kaiser and his war lords are 
going to leave — the German nation/' 

Blutner started, but quickly controlled 
himself. Haughtily he said : l * Victory will 
dry all eyes in Germany/' 

M You dream of victory ? " She had gone 
back to her sewing. 

* f Already victory is assured, I give you a 
German's word for that ! '* 

Her voice was soft and cold as snow, " A 
German's word I What may that be worth 
nowadays ? " 

Stung, he exclaimed : " You go too far ! " 

" Surely a Belgian has the right to ask the 

" Were you a man- '* 

* c One of us two would now be silent for 
ever. Nay/' she proceeded, calmly. 4t f no 
longer fear anything. I am surfeited with 
the fright fulness of you Germans. You no 
longer impress me. When all is said and 
done, von can onlv kill and burn, murder and 

" I order you to be silent," 

Louise threaded a needle — or pretended 
to do so. u Oh, you are brave enough, you 
have your courage, I grant you. But you 
have also an unfortunate faculty for spatter- 
ing your glories with shame and dis- " 

"Not another word [** 

" On land, on sea, in the air, your gallant 
deeds are leavened with ignoble ones. If 
chivalry must pass for ever from the earth, 
Germany will have expelled it/' 

At that he sprang up, furious, dashing the 
bottle to the floor. lt You mad- woman, 
must I silence you with my hands ? 1? 

11 There is more wine in the cupboard/' 

He strode to her side, " Are you not 
afraid ? " His hand fell and brutally gripped 
her shoulder. 

She winced. 

u So .? " he laughed, 

* Yes," she said, with amazing calmness, 
u you can hurt, you can destroy — -the flesh/' 

4 Bah ! " He flung away from her and 
went back to the stove. Against its edge he 
cracked the neck of the second bottle, As 
he charged the tumbler he muttered : 
"There's time enough — time enough/' 
Then, aloud ; " You are a brave woman, 
Fraulein ; but it is a mistake to lie brave as 
well as beautiful/' Hi elevated the tumbler, 
u Fraulein, I will drink to our better 
acquaintance ! " 

She was bending over her sewing, 

li Behold ! tJrhjSnfffifrtirn*' To our better 

1 66 



by Google 

Original from 



acquaintance, pretty one. So I ? He laughed 
roughly, * 4 She is proud and cold — proud 
and cold as a statue. Well, we shall see ! " 
He drained the glass. * ( We shall see I " 

Presently he rose, smiling, and proceeded 
leisurely to draw the curtains and bolt the 
door. Her eyes followed his actions, but she 
did not stir. Having refreshed himself once 
more, he strolled over to the machine and 
halted, looking down upon her, still smiling. 

" Weil ? " he said T softly, mockingly. 

She paid no attention. 

lt What do you think I was doing just 
now ? " 

" Breaking your own regulations." 

" What one makes, one may break. 
Listen, Fraulein. I am going to tell you 
something. My comrade will not be here 
till morning. He is on special duty. Shall 
I tell you where ? " He lit a cigarette, and 
continued : " He is on duty at the bridge, 
waiting for the passage of our splendid new 
guns. What are those splendid guns for ? 
To put an end to your friends, the damned 
English, on the coast. Aeh ! I am very 
well aware that you poor, ignorant people 
hi: re have hopes. But put them away. 
They are vain, crazy. You have not a fight- 
ing man left within ten miles." He leaned 
forward and gave her arm a playful little 
shake. (l So J You still make believe you 
are not afraid ? 1 know better, pretty one ! " 

** What is left me to be afraid of ? " she 
said T wearily. 

He leaned nearer. '* Only — myself." 

*' Ah ! " She recoiled as though stabbed ; 
wilted as though her nerve, strung to the 
limit, had been severed, 

" And yet/' he said., soothingly, * ( I am not 
so terrible a fellow when I get my own 
way, You understand ?— when I get my 
own way," 

11 Beast ! " Springing up, she backed from 

He followed without haste. rt There is 
time enough. We have the house to our- 
selves until morning,' 5 

" Help i Oh, help I " 

" Spare your pretty voice. Who in this 
place gives heed to a woman's cry in the 
night ? " 

11 Jules ! — if you still live " she cried, 

desperately, her back to the dresser, 

" My name is Carl," He strode forward 
to seize her. 

Slipping under his arm, she darted across 
the room. Like a flash she whipped his 
sword from its scabbard and turned, panting, 
to face him just as he was upon her. 

With the sword's point at his throat she 
forced him to retreat towards the door. 
Passing the window, she caught, with her 
left hand, the curtains and tore them down. 
The sword wavered, but not long enough 
for the man to escape. His eyes roved in 
search of something that might avail him. 
She drove him beyond the door. Then, with 
a quick movement, she drew back the holt 
and pulled the door wide. 

11 Help ! Jules ! " 

He saw his chance. He sprang sideways 
towards the sewing-machine ; he snatched 
away the cloth that hung from the table, 
wrapped it round his hand and arm, leapt 
upon her, and wrested the sword from her 
tired hold. Breathing hard, inflamed with 
mingling passions, he flung the door shut, 
and approached her until his sweating face 
almost touched her white countenance. His 
voice was thick. 

" What now, my pretty one ? " 

She fled to the dresser and leaned against 
it ? on the verge of collapse. Her eyes saw 
nothing save the exposed secret. 

Laughing, he passed to the stove, threw 
aside the red cloth, returned his sword to its 
scabbard, and took a gulp of wine. Presently, 
still laughing, he advanced towards her on re 
more. About the centre of the floor he 
paused to bow mockingly and say: '* It is 
time to surrender, is it not, my " 

Boom ! From the night came a sweet and 
solemn lingering note, 

Blutner's smile vanished, his body straight- 
ened to stift attention. li What was that 
bell ? " he exclaimed, in voluntarily ? and 
made for the door. 

As he did so Louise darted forward. She 
was too prompt, A moment later he would 
have been peering out into the night. As it 
was, something about her movement warned 
him. He wheeled round, and realized part, 
if not all, 

%s Got I in Ilitmmh a mine ! " he shouted, 
and grasped her as her fingers flew to the 

But she wriggled free, and with all her 
feverish might drove both her fists into his 
fare. He staggered, blind for a moment, and 
in that moment the deed for Belgium was 

Louise reeled from the machine, and as she 
came to rest against the door a great flare 
crossed the curtainless window and illumi- 
nated the interior. For the next two seconds 
Blutner stood like one in a trance. At the 
third a tremendous rancussion rocked the 
buildingp p ^ jflf^PFj-.j f gjj^| ■■yEf^ft^ mttl * d > the 




by Google 

Original from 



r'^^KKf *fl PEQ^Hm 


7S Kg; iV j^feH 

£L' ; i *%i ttkkc 


X 1 
^^^^A ^^^^E ^^H^l 

K3 Bf^ ^jBm 

^1 »* <w 

, . -^AV 

door of the stove flew open, glass shivered and 

Blu trier dashed at the girl. ' What was 
it ? Answer, or I kill you ! " 

She broke into hysterical laughter and dis- 
connected words, l * The bridge — your splen- 
did guns— gone, lost — you also ! Vive la 
Brfge / Vive r Angle " 

Inside himself, he struck her on the 

She drew her hand across it and 
tried : "Kill me, German beast ! I care 
not ! n 

Savagely he seized her. " Yes, you shall 
die — be shot — nay, hanged. But first — first 
von shall pay me / " Grinning in his frenzy, 
lie began to drag her, struggling across the 

floor, in the direction of the inner door. <l Ja 1 
First you shall pay ■" ; 

Out of the night sprang a racket of machine- 
gun and rifle fire. A bugle sang wildly. 

" Gott I It is an attack ! " He hesitated, 
but only for an instant. " First you shall 
pay me — pay me, my pretty mad-woman ! 
Come ; it is useless " 

Running font steps — the door burst open. 

" Hands up ? devil ! " 

Jules, his head bound in a bloody rag, stood 
there, revolver levelled. 

Louise, breaking away, flew to the shelter 
of his left arm and hid her face on his muddy 

In a stiff, mechanical fashion, Blutner's arms 
went up. He looked as if he were going to cry. 

v*l i T _ ai. 

by Google 

Original from 

Illustrated by Will Owen. 

R. JKRNSHAW. who was 

hiking the opportunity of a 

hill in business to weigh out 

pound packets of sugar, 

knocked his hands together 

and stood waiting for the 

order of the tall bronzed man 

who had just entered the shop — x well-built 

man of about forty— w jo was regard. ng him 

with blue eyes set in quizzical wrinkles, 

" What, Harry [ " exclaimed Mr. Jcrnshaw, 
in response to the wrinkles. * Harry Barrett ! 

" That's me/* said the other, extending his 
hand, * The rolling stone come home covered 
with moss/* 

Mr. Jcrnshaw, somewhat excited, shook 
hands, and led the way into the little parlour 
behind the shop. 

'" Fifteen years/* said Mr. Barrett, sinking 
into a chair, " and the old place hasn't 
altered a bit," 

" Smithson told me he had let that house 
in Webb Street to a Barrett/' said the grocer, 
regarding him, <+ but I never thought of you. 
I suppose you've done well, then ? " 

Mr. Barrett nodded, " Can't grumble/' 
he said, modestly, " Fve got enough to live 

lized by GoOgfe 

on, Melbourne 1 * all right, but I thought Td 
come home for the evening of my life." 

(f Evening ! ?? repeated his friend, 

" Forty-three/' said Mr, Barrett, gravely. 
* £ I'm getting on/' 

*' You haven't changed much/* said the 
grocer, passing his hand through his spare 
grey whiskers. t( Wait till you have u 
wife and seven youngsters. Why, boots 
alone — *' 

Mr. Barrett uttered a groan intended for 
sympathy. '* Perhaps you could help me 
with the furnishing," he said, slowly. 4< I've 
never had a place of my own before, and I 
don't know much about it," 

" Anything I can do,' 7 said his friend. 
" Better not get much yet ; you might marry, 
and my taste mightn't lie hers.' 1 

Mr. Barrett laughed. ** I'm not marrying/ 1 
he said 3 with conviction. 

" Seen anything of Miss Prentice yet ? f1 
inquired Mr. Jernshaw. 

" No/* said the other, with a slight flush, 
" Why? " 

" She's still single/' said the grocer. 

"What of it?" demanded Mr, Barrett, 
with warmth. " What of it ? " 

\iy W. W^ Ja«:uK_ . 

Original from 



11 Nothing/' sa'd Mr. Jernshaw, slowly, 
14 Nothing; only I " 

il Well ? " said the other, as he paused, 

**■ I — there was an idea that you went to 
Australia to — to better your condition,' 1 
murmured the grocer, lt That — that you 
were not in a position to marry — that— — ■" 

" Boy and girl nonsense/' said Mr. Barrett, 
sharply, " Why, it's fifteen years ago. I 
don't suppose I should know her if I saw her. 
Is her mother alive ? " 

** Rather ! " said Mr. Jernshaw, with 
emphasis. " Louisa is something like what 
her mother was when you went away," 

Mr, Barrett shivered. 

" But you'll sec for yourself/' continued the 
other. " You'll have to go and see them. 
They'll wonder you haven't been before." 

" Let 'em wonder/ 7 said the embarrassed 
Mr. Barrett. " I shall go and see all my old 
friends in their turn ; casual-like. You 
might let 'em hear that I've been to see you 
before seeing them, and then, if they're 
thinking any nonsense, it'll bs a hint. I'm 
stopping in town while the house is being 
decorated ; next time I come down I'll call 
and see somebody else." 

" That'll be another hint/' assented Mr. 
Jernshaw. M Not that hints are much good 
to Mrs. Prentice. 1 ' 

" We'll see/' said Mr. Barrett. 

In accordance with his plan his return to 
his native town was heralded by a few short 
visits at respectable intervals. A sort of 
human butterfly, he streaked rapidly across 
one or two streets, alighted for half an hour 
to resume an old friendship, and then dis- 
appeared again. Having given at least half- 
a-dozen hints of this kind, he made a final 
return to Ramsbury and entered into occupa- 
tion of his new house. 

M It does you credit, Jemshaw," he said, 
gratefully. (1 1 should have made a rare 
mess of it without your help." 

u It looks verv nice/' admitted his friend. 
" Too nice/* 

" That's all nonsense/' said the owner, 

l£ All right/' said Mr, Jernshaw. " I don't 
know the sex, then, that's all If you think 
that you're going to keep a nice house like 
this all to yourself , you're mistaken. It's a 
homt ; and where there's a home a woman 
comes in. somehow/' 

Mr. Barrett grunted his disbelief. 

" I give you four days/' said Mr. Jernshaw. 

As a matter of faet ; Mrs. Prentice and her 
daughter came on the fifth. Mr, Barrett, 
■who was in an easy-chair, wooing slumber with 

Digitized byCoOglC 

a handkerchief over his head, heard their 
voices at the front door and the cordial 
invitation of his housekeeper. They entered 
the room as he sat hastily smoothing his 
rumpled hair, 

M Good afternoon/' he^said, shaking hands. 

Mrs. Prentice returned the greeting in a 
level voice and, accepting a chair, gazed 
around the room, 

" Nice weather/' said Mr. Barrett, 

" Very/' said Mrs. Prentice. 

" It's — it's quite a pleasure to see you 
again/' said Mr. Barrett. 

11 We thought we should have seen you 
before/' said Mrs- Prentice, " but I told 
Louisa that no doubt you were busy, and 
wanted to surprise her. I like the carpet ; 
don't you, Louisa ? ?? 

Miss Prentice said she did. 

" The room is nice and airy/ 1 said Mrs. 
Prentice, * + but it's a pity you didn't come to 
mc before deciding, I could have told you 
of a better house for the same money/' 

"I'm very well satisfied with this/' said 
Mr, Barrett/ " It's all / want." 

" It's well enough ," conceded Mrs, Prentice, 
amiably, +l And how have you been all these 
years ? " 

Mr, Barrett, with some haste, replied that 
his health and spirits had been excellent. 

" You look well/' said Mrs. Prentice. 
" Neither of you seem to have changed 
much/' she added, looking frotfj him to her 
daughter. lt And I think you did quite well 
not to write. I think it was much the best." 

Mr. Barrett sought for a question : a 
natural, artless question, that would neutralize 
the hideous suggestion conveyed by this 
remark, but it eluded him. He sat and gazed 
in growing fear at Mrs. Prentice, 

M I — I couldn't write," he said at last, in 
desperation ; " my wife — — " 

" Your what t " exclaimed Mrs, Prentice, 

*' Wife/ 5 said Mr. Barrett, suddenly calm 
now that he had taken the plunge. " She 
wouldn't have liked it." 

Mrs. Prentice tried to control her voice, 
u I never heard you were married ! n she 
gasped, " Why isn't she here ? " 

We couldn't agree," said the veracious 
Mr, Barrett. li She was very difficult ; so I 
left the children with her and — — " 

11 Chil " said Mrs. Prentice, and paused, 

unable to complete the word. 

" Five/' said Mr, Barrett, in tones of 
resignation. " It was rather a wrench, 
parting with them, especially the baby. He 
got his first tooth the day I left," 




The information fell on deaf ears. Mrs. 
Prentice, for once in her life thoroughly at a 
loss y sat trying to collect her scattered 
faculties. She had come out prepared for a 
hard job, but not an impossible one, AH 
things considered, she took her defeat with 
admirable composure. 

** I have no doubt it is much the best thing 
for the children to remain with their mother/* 
she said, rising. 

" Much the best/' agreed Mr* Barrett. 

" Whatever she is like/ 1 continued the old 
lady. " Are you ready, Louisa ? " 

Mr. Barrett followed them to the door, and 
then, returning to the room, watched, with 
glad eyes f their progress up the street, 

" Wonder whether she'll keep it to her- 
self ? " he muttered. 

His doubts were set at rest next day. All 
Rams bury knew by then of his matrimonial 
complications, and seemed anxious to talk 
about them ; complications which tended to 
increase until Mr. Barrett wrote out a list of 
his children's names and ages and learnt it 
off by heart. 

Relieved of the attentions of the Prentice 
family, he walked the streets a free man ; and 
it was counted to him for righteousness that 
he never said a hard word about his wife. 
She had her faults, he said, but they were 
many thousand miles away, and he preferred 
to forget them. And he added, with some 
truth, that he owed her a good deal. 

For a few months he had no reason to alter 
his opinion. Thanks to his presence of mind, 
he walked the streets a free man and the 
Prentice family had no terrors for him. 
Heart-whole and fancy free, he led the easy 
life of a man of leisure, a condition of things 
suddenly upset by the arrival of Hiss Grace 
Lindsay to take up a post at the elementary 
school. Mr. Uarretl su'rumbed almost Lit 
once, and, after a few encounters in the street 
and meetings at mutual friends', went to 
unbosom himself to Mr. Jernshaw. 

14 What has she got to do with you ? " 
demanded that gentleman. 

11 I — I'm rather struck with her/' said Mr. 

" Struck with her ? " repeated his friend, 
sharply. u lm surprised at you. You've no 
business to think of such things. u 

" Why not ? " demanded Mr. Barret t, in 
tones that were sharper still. 

Si Why not ? " repeated the other. ik Have 
you forgotten your wife and children ? " 

Mr. Barrett, who, to do him justice, had 
forgotten, fell back in his chair and sat gazing 
at him, open- moat ht.'d, 

igitized by Google 

n You're in a false position — in a way," 
said Mr, Jernshaw, sternly* 

** False is no name for it, 3 ' said Mr* Barrett, 
huskily. ** What am I to do ? " 

Cl Do? " repeated the other, staring at him* 
M Nothing 1 Unless, perhaps, you send for 
your wife and children. I suppose, in any 
case, you would have to have the little ones 
if anything happened to her ? H 

Mr. Barrett grinned ruefully, 

" Think it over," said Mr* Jernshaw. 

u I will," said the other, heartily. 

He walked home deep in thought. He was 
a kindly man, and he spent some time 
thinking out the easiest death for Mrs. 
Barrett. He decided at last upon heart- 
disease, and a fortnight later all Ramsbury 
knew of the letter from Australia conveying 
the mournful intelligence. It was generally 
agreed that the mourning and the general 
behaviour of the widower left nothing to he 

" She's at peace at last," he said, solemnly 
to Jernshaw. 

" I believe you killed her," said his friend. 

Mr. Barrett started violently. 

il I mean your leaving broke her heart/* 
explained the other. 

Mr. Barrett breathed easily again. 

" It's your duty to look after the children/* 
said Jernshaw, firmly. " And I'm not the 
only one that thinks so." 

*' They are with their grandfather and 
grandmother/' said Mr, Barrett. 

Mr. Jernshaw sniffed* 

" And four uncles and five aunts/ 1 added 
Mr. Barrett, triumphantly* 

u Think how they would brighten up your 
house," said Mr. jernshaw. 

His friend shook his head. u It wouldn't be 
fair to their grandmother/' he said, decidedly. 
* h Besides, Australia wants population. 1 ' 

He found to his annoyance that Mr 
Jernshaw' s .statement that he was not alone 
in his views was correct. Public opinion 
seemed to expect the arrival of the children, 
and one citizen even went so far as to recom- 
mend a girl he knew, as nurse. 

Ramsbury understood at last that his 
decision was final, and, observing his attentions 
to the new schoolmistress, flattered itself that 
it had discovered the reason. Ft is possible 
that Miss Lindsay shared their views, but if 
so she made no sign, and on the many occa- 
sions on which she met Mr. Barrett on her 
way to and from school greeted him with 
frank cordiality. Even when he referred to 
his loneliness, which he did frequently, she 
made no comment. 
Original from 






He went into half-mourning at the end of 
two months ? and a month later bore no 
outward signs of his loss. Added to that his 
step was springy and his manner youthful- 
Miss Lindsay was twenty-eight, and he per- 
suaded himself that, sexes considered, there 
was no disparity worth mentioning. 

He was only restrained from proposing by 
a question of etiquette. Even a shilling book 
on the science failed to state the interval that 
should elapse between the death of one wife 
and the negotiations for another. It pre- 
ferred instead to give minute instructions 
with regard to the eating of asparagus. In 
this dilemma hu consulted Jernshaw, 

" Don't know, I'm sure," said that gentle- 
man ; " besides, it doesn't matter." 

" Doesn't matter ? " repeated Mr. Barrett. 
" Why not ? " 

14 Because I think Tillett is paying her 
attentions," was the reply. " He's ten years 
younger than you are t and a bachelor, A 
girl would naturally prefer him to a middle- 
aged widower with five children." 

" In Australia/' the other reminded him. 

" Man for man, bachelor for bachelor/' said 
Mr, Jernshaw, regarding him, Ki she might 
prefer you ; as things are— — " 

" I shall ask her," &aid Mr. Barrett, dog- 
gedly. " I was going to wait a bit longer, 
but if there *s any chance of her wrecking her 

Digitized by G< 

prospects for life by marrying that tailor's 
dummy it's my duty to risk it— for her sake. 
I've seen him talking to her twice myself, but 
I never thought he*d dream of such a thing," 

Apprehension and indignation kept him 
awake half the night, but when he arose next 
morning it was with the firm resolve to put his 
fortune to the test that day. At four o'clock 
he changed his neck-tie for the third time, and 
at ten past sallied out in the direction of the 
♦school. He met Miss Lindsay Just coming 
out and, after a well-deserved compliment to 
the weather, turned and walked with her, 

" I wns hoping to meet vou," he said, slowly. 

" Yes ? " said the girl/ 

'* I — I have been feeling rather lonely 
to-day," he continued. 

14 You often do," said Miss Lindsay, 

(< It gets worse and worse/' said Mr* 
Barrett f sadly. 

'* I think I know what is the matter with 
you/' said the girl, in a soft voice ; " you have 
got nothing to do all day, and you live alone 
except for your housekeeper.' 

Mr. Barrett assented with some eagerness, 
and stole a hopeful glance at her. 

" You— you miss something," continued 
Miss Lindsay, in a faltering voice.. 

" I do/ 1 said Mr. Barrett, with ardour. 

" You miss " — the girl niade an effort — 
Original frorn 




" you miss the footsteps and voices of your 
little children/' 

Mr. Barrett stopped suddenly in the street, 
and then, with a jerk, went blindly on, 

" Fve never spoken of it before because it*s 
your business, not mine," continued the girl. 
" I wouldn't have spoken now, but when you 
referred to your loneliness I thought perhaps 
you didn't realize the cause of it." 

Mr. Barrett walked on in silent misery, 

" Poor Httle motherless things ! " said 
Miss Lindsay, softly. *' Motherless and — 

" Better for them," said Mr. Barrett, finding 
his voice at last. 

" It almost looks like it/ r said Miss Lindsay, 
with a sigh. 

Mr. Barrett tried to think clearly, but 
the circumstances were hardly favourable. 
" Suppose," he said, speaking very slowly, 
" suppose I wanted to get married ? M 

Miss Lindsay started. " What, again ? " 
she said, with an air of surprise. 

- 1 How could I ask a girl to come and take 
over five children ? " 

11 No woman that was worth having would 
let little children be sacrificed for her sake/' 
said Miss Lindsay, decidedly. 

u Do you think anybody would marry me 
with five children ? " demanded Mr. Barrett, 

" She might," said the girl, edging away from 
him a little, " It depends on the woman." 

11 Would — you, for instance ? " said Mr. 
Barrett, desperately. 

Miss Lindsay shrank still farther away. 
"I don't know; it would depend upon 
circumstances," she murmured. 

(i I will write and send for them/' said Mr. 
Barrett , significantly. 

Miss Lindsay made no reply. They had 
arrived at her gate by this time , and, with a 
hurried handshake, she disappeared indoors. 
Mr, Barrett j somewhat troubled in mind, went 
home to tea. 

He resolved, after a little natural hesitation, 
to drown the children, and reproached himself 
bitterly for not having disposed of them at the 
same time as their mother. Now he would have 
to go through another period of mourning 
and the consequent delay in pressing his suit. 
Moreover, he would have to allow a decent 
interval between his conversation with Miss 
Lindsay and their untimely end. 

The news of the catastrophe arrived two or 
three days before the return of the girl from 
her summer holidays. She learnt it in the 
first half-hour frdm her landlady, and sat in 
a dazed condition listening to a description of 
the grief-stricken father and the sympathy 

by Google 

extended to him by his fellow-citizens. Ft 
appeared that nothing had passed his lips for 
two davs. 

" Shocking ! " said Miss Lindsav, brief! v. 
" Shocking ! " 

An instinctive feeling that the right and 
proper thing to do was to nurse his grief in 
solitude kept Mr, Barrett out of her way for 
nearly a week. When she did meet him she 
received a Hmp handshake and a greeting in 
a voice from which all hope seemed to have 

1£ I am very sorry / T she said, with a sort of 
measured gentleness, 

Mr. Barrett, in his hushed voice, thanked her. 

" I am all alone now," he said, pathetically. 
" There is nobody now to care whether I live 
or die." 

Miss Lindsay did not contradict him, 

(( How did it happen ? fi she inquired, after 
they had gone some distance in silence. 

(i They were out in a sailing-boat," said 
Mr. Barrett ; •* the boat capsized ill a puff of 
wind, and they were all drowned. ,f 

" Who was in charge of them ? " inquired 
the girl, after a decent interval. 

*' Boatman/' replied the other. 

" How did you hear ? " 

£l I had a letter from one of my sisters-in- 
law, Charlotte," said Mr. Barrett. iv A most 
affecting letter. Poor Charlotte was like a 
second mother to them. She'll never be the 
same woman again. Never ! " 

" I should like to see the letter," said Miss 
Lindsay, musingly, 

Mr. Barrett suppressed a start. " I should 
like to show it to you/* he said, Li but I'm 
afraid I have destroyed it. It made me 
shudder every time I looked at it." 

" It's a pity," said the girl, dryly, l4 I 
should have liked to see it. I've got my own 
idea about the matter. Are you sure she was 
very fond of them ? " 

" She lived only for them," said Mr. 
Barrett, in a rapt voice. 

" Exactly. I don't believe they are 
drowned at all," said Miss Lindsay , suddenly. 
11 I bel ieve you have had all this terrible 
anguish for nothing. It's too cruel/' 

Mr, Barrett stared at her in anxious 

" 1 see it all now/' continued the girh 
u Their Aunt Charlotte was devoted to them. 
She always had the fear that some day you 
would return and claim them, and to prevent 
that she invented the story of their death." 

" Charlotte is the most truthful woman that 
ever breathed/ 7 said the distressed Mr. Barrett. 

Miss Lindsay shook her head. il You are 
Original from 



like all other honourable, truthful people. 1 ' 
she said, looking at him gravely, A You 
can't imagine anybody else telling a falsehood. 
I don't believe you could tell one if you tried/' 

Mr. Barrett gazed about him with the 
despairing look of a 
drowning mariner. 

u Vm certain I'm 
right," continued the 

Mr. Barrett hesitated, " III write," he 
said, slowly. " It's an awkward thing to 
cable ; and there's no hurry. I'll write to 
Jack Adams, 1 think," 

" It's no good writing " said Miss Lindsay, 
firmly. " You ought 
to know that/* 


girl, " 1 can see Charlotte exulting in her 
wi c kc d ne ss , Why ! 7 5 

u What's the matter ? " inquired Mr. 
Barrett, greatly worried. 

" I've just thought of it,' 1 said Miss Lindsay. 
" She's told you that your children arc 
drowned, and she has probably told them you 
are dead. A woman like that would stick at 
nothing to gain her ends/' 

" You don't know Charlotte/' said Mr, 
Barrett, feebly, 

" I think I do," was the reply. u However, 
we'll make sure. I suppose you've got 
friends in Melbourne ? " 

" A few/* said Mr. Barrett, guardedly, 

11 Come down to the post-office and cable 
to one of them. ' 

by Google 

" Why not ? '■ demanded the other. 

u Because, you foolish man/' said the 
girl, calmly, E< before your letter pot there, 
there would l>e one from Melbourne saying 
that he had been choked by a fish-bone, 
or died of measles^ or som ething of that 
sort/ 7 

Mr, Barrett, hardly able to believe his 
cars, stopped short and looked at her. The 
girl's eyes were moist with mirth and her lips 
trembling. He put out his hand and took 
her wrist in a strong grip. 

" That's all right," he said, with a great 
gasp of relief, tC Phew I At one time I thought 
I had lost you." 

11 By heart - disease, or drowning ? " 
inquired Miss Lindsay, softly. 
Original from 

The v alue ox Observation 

in War. 



Assoc. M. Inst. C*E,, M.S. A, (Eastbourne Volunteer Training Corps). 

This lecture, delivered by the Author to meetings of soldiers, will be found of 
the greatest interest, not only to those for whom it is primarily intended, but 
to all classes of readers to whom the habit of close observation is of value. 

)V soldiers are soon to enjoy 
the very finest sport in the 
world — Man - hunting. You 
are about to fight men armed, 
equipped, and disciplined like 
yourselves j both on equal 
terms so far, and thev are 
just as ready to shoot you as you are to 
shoot them, It is not enough, therefore, for 
a soldier to be simply a good shot ; he should 
be as wary as a hawk, and as watchful* His 
first great duty is to emulate the hawk, 
which kills at large and is very seldom killed ; 
that is, to slay and not be slain. How can 
he best accomplish this ? Surely only by 
becoming a trained scout and brilliant 
observer now, at home. 

Doubtless some of you are thinking : " This 
man isn't a regular soldier ; what does he know 
about it ? T * Well, as a Civil Engineer, I am 
almost a soldier. I am an old Volunteer and 
have been a devoted wild-fowler and sports- 
man generally for over forty years. I have 
shot, fished, and sketched all over Europe, 
from the Tweed to Moscow, and in Canada, 
I have stalked big and little game, in great 
forests and lonely marshes, at all hours of the 
day and night ; and so I claim by profession 
and hobbies to be somewhat of a trained 
observer, especially at night. Further, I have 
long been a student of military history. 

Let me heg:n by telling you how a trained 
observer on re saved three hundred men. 
During the Napoleonic Wars, a French soldier 
was convalescing in a small town, on the 
banks of a wide river, near Leipzig* He got 
to know of a shallow ford in the river, and 
carefully noted its position, Many months 

by Google 

after he had rejoined the French forces his 
regiment fought a disastrous rearguard action 
in this very locality. The only available 
bridge was blown up , and so death or surrender 
stared the remnants' of his regiment in the 
face ; he remembered the ford* told his 
captain, led some three hundred men to the 
place, and they all escaped. This will show 
you what one observant man can do. 

During the Soudan War a sporting British 
officer noticed that sand grouse came to drink 
every evening at a certain place, always about 
the same time, and from the same direction, 
One night they failed to come. He wondered 
why, thought it out, doubled his pickets, 
extended some especially in the direction the 
birds usually came from, and the result was 
that a rush of dervishes was detected and 
foiled. Another instance ol what one 
observant man can do. 

There is a little child*s book entitled 
st Eyes and No Eyes " — a phrase which sums 
up the whole situation beautifully, The best 
soldier is the one who sees everything around 
him and re mem hers what he sees— one who 
is not simply a shooting- machine ; he must 
have initiative, that is, be instantly ready 
for correct action in all circumstances, by day 
or night. He must be always making mental 
notes of his surroundings, far and near, and 
never forgetting them. 

Brain Ix^ats mere brawn in this war. 

Many of you are town-bred, unaccustomed 
to country life ; yet, because your powers of 
observation in other matters are acute, you 
may quiekly become trained observers and 
clever scouts if you will only apply those 
powers to your physical surroundings at 
Original from 




home* now, with patient and enduring energy. 
From my awn observation in Germany, I 
believe the average German is no sportsman 
—far from it ; he is a well -drilled machine* 
That is why the British soldier beats him 
hollow in a fair field. 

As a race we, on the other hand, are 
essentially fond of field sports, therefore more 
or less full of observation and initiative ; and 
it is these two great powers which I seek to 
foster. It is easy enough ; you have only to 
begin, and stick to it like grim death. 

How to Become a Trained Observer and 

Clever Scout. 
First of all keep your eyes skinned ; 
notice everything, everywhere ; largely so 
that you may know your surroundings by 

On the march, for instance, now, in England, 
get the lie of the land wherever you go ; 
notice all special features : houses, churches, 
towers, farm buildings, bridges, rivers, 
streams, ponds, bogs, swamps, hills, valleys ? 
gates j detached trees ; woods, stacks, tele- 
graph-poles, and all features which will enable 
you to know that road and district again, 
especially by night, for much fighting is done 
in the dark, You may notice that public- 
houses are omitted — just as well. 

Now begin, in your leisure, by going into 
a field, a small varied one to begin with. 
Look at it hard, and notice everything, just 
for five minutes, and drill into your brain its 
main features : the nearest road, the gates, 
the fences, the grips, the ditches, the crops, 
the humps in it. Imagine there is a sharp- 
shooter there — where is Ik- hiding, or where 

could you hide ? Note the depth of the 
ditches, and all special features ; then turn 
your back on it, and remember all you saw, 
and presently look again, and see what you 
have forgotten, and go over it all again. 
Always think you are on active service* 
Imagine that that field may contain a 
machine-gun. trenches, '* dug-outs." even a 
hidden battery ; it will quicken your interest. 

Now go into a much larger field, and do the 
same thing all over again ; look at it well, as 
though you loved it ; then walk it over and 
think if you could find your way about it at 
night without losing your way. 

Then begin to extend your range till you 
include quite a large district (see Illustration 
No. 5) and repeat the same process, Notice if 
the subsoil is chalk, clay, rock, or sand. 
Examine rabbit-burrows and edges of ditches 
for this purpose. Frequent ponds, full of 
water, point to clay. The grass will some- 
times tell you something ; chalk grass is very 
short, clay grass is rank and coarse, sand 
grass medium. Practice will soon make you 
expert. Small hills in clay districts are 
sometimes rock, sand, or chalk. It is of 
great importance to observe accurately, 
because of trench-digging. The difference 
between a wet or a dry site for trenches is 
naturally a very serious matter. Spend a 
night in a wet l£ dug-out," and then you will 
know, and possibly deserve it. 

Observing Nature of Rivers and Streams, and 

How to Ford Them by Day or Night, Flooded 

or Clear . 

If there are ditches, streams, or rivers note 

the depth of the water, as far as you can, the 

Ho*$ to approach, fordjk scout alooff fbe banks* of an 
appajrcarly BbaJM ritfer &»d the Stater upaer Joe haDh$> 

AhOa^f$ select a bend toloofe from &Vfcej€^er cofercaa be 

I obtained. 

1 \ w a *~* o A TV/I |\T I Eiarfc C3facJr place *&keve you 

VU, L-23. 




JfWto cross ^apparently zhaiiovTpYer in flood 
or in the dar£ (ora 600) by tije aid of a. tor\g stic}^ 

Scoot pnpldly crossing roi'gi; beAo( rh'etr shlc to sa/ify ioo^&ra/W* 
ivfat^ou hftvl 1 notgot,£c CMfttft got,* perhaps t^e livfr* of ^bur comrades are at Stafy? 

width of the water, and the nature of the 
bottom, if mud, or otherwise. Smooth water 
indicates depth ; running water shallows, 
but with holes at intervals sometimes. This 
great war may be said to be a war of rivers : 
the Manic, the Aisne, and the Vistula, for 

The nature and positions of all bridges 
should be noted ; also locks and lor k -gates, 
and, of course, all fords. 

The flooding of part of Belgium (an act 
which defeated the German plans) could have 
only been done so skilfully by men who knew 
the country intimately. Here, again, a wise 
initiative (probably on the part of one or two 
local men) had an enormous effect on the 
campaign. But for that, the Germans might 
have been at Calais to-day. 

Wherever there is a ditch, stream, or river, 
note its narrowest points most easy of crossing. 
A fly-fisherman always does this instinctively ; 
he will tell by the run of water where there 
is u bunk near the surface, by means of which 
he can wade across. The weeds on and under 
the surface, or the absence of weeds, will give 
hi in a clue as to the depth of the water and 
the nature of the bed of the river. To him 
a river h like an open book. So it ought to 
be to you. 

Note if the water is its normal colour. If 
running unduly muddy, this points to 
operations above ; possibly bridge-building, 
or damming. Always look for the highest 
flood-level. The bushes on the banks, and 
marks beyond the banks, will show this 
ciearly, and the information may be of great 
value. A sudden flood of unexjxeted height 
may break down temporary bridges or render 
trencher useless. The French suffered very 
heavy losses on one <Kc^<WWfci£ Aisne 

owing to the destruction of temporary bridges 
by a great flood. Possibly this was due to 
want of accurate observation, 

A wild-fowler, when in search of sport, 
never walks heedlessly along the top of a 
river bank, or any high ground, not even at 
dusk. He stalks carefully every length, 
keeping studiously out of sight ; always 
selects a bend as a good place to see from {see 
Illustration No. i) ; never does anything in a 
hurry ; approaches the bank at right angles 
by a series of loop walks, at intervals pf a 
hundred yards, so as far as possible to 
disturb only a short length of water, then 
very cautiously looks over the bank — cer- 
tainly not with the Service cup on — first 
selecting a place where there is a bush, long 
grass, or reeds to screen his face ; listens and 
ponders as to the meaning of every sound ; 
ever has one eve on the horizon, and always 
looks where he can hide. If he wants to rest, 
he doesn't sit where he can be seen u mile oil, 
on the top of a gate for instance . 

Illustration No, 2 shows the bed of a river. 
Now, just to prove that I know something 
about rivers, I find that I have, while fly- 
fishing, waded at least two hundred and forty 
miles in twenty different rivers, all over 
Europe from the Itchen to the Arno, including 
the Pegnitz, near Nuremberg. 

Now I will tell you the proper way to 
attempt to cross an apparently shallow river, 
a bog or swamp, a flooded trench, or any wide 
water. Look at this five-foot landing-net 
handle ; it has saved me many a perilous 
swim. Of course any stick of about the same 
length will serve equally well. You use 
it in discoloured water, or in the dark 
as a bliStjiqm^ifropfi a stick. You fed 

ymf mfCETUri IffllWRSfrY* mmnd aJl the 



time with confidence, rifle in hand — a tremen- 
dous advantage. Further, you can slip 
across quickly — without a stick you can only 
painfully and slowly cross with your eyes at 
your feet j a pretty suklier indeed {See 
illustrations Nos* 3 and 4.) A river is always 
varying. Never trust a river ; never ford or 
scout along a strange one without a five-foot 
stick. You may have to do it at night ; 
what then y Cut one as you go along, and 
carefully sharpen the end. 

" Ridiculously obvious ! " you may say. 
Yes, but you may be obviously ridiculous 
when you urgently need what you haven't 
got, and cannot get, when perhaps the lives 

be deadly, especially without a stick, as I 
know full well. Further, the water will be 
muddy instead of clear, and you can't tell the 
depth or the nature of the bottom. 

If you are upset with a rifle and a hundred 
rounds on you, what chance have you of 
swimming ? A dead soldier, or one without 
a rifle, isn't much good* 

If you step into a foot or two of mud, don't 
get flustered and plunge about ; keep steady, 
and lift one foot after the other, very slowly, 
treading backwards. Don't twist your feet, 
lift them exactly as you put them down. 
Put a key into a lock and turn it, you can't 
then withdraw it ; think of a key in a lock 






of your comrades arc in your hands. {See 
Illustrations Nos. 2, 3, and 4,) 

Now, having safely crossed your river , you 
would be as mad as a hatter if you didn't 
mark on the bank exactly where you reached 
it, so that you can find that place again, even 
in the dark. A line of twigs or stones on the 
turf pointing to the exact spot is a good plan 
(see arrows on Illustration No* 1); further, 
you will carefully hide up that stick where 
you can find it on your return. 

Remember that a river has moods. In the 
morning it may be clear ; in the afternoon in 
flood owing to rain possibly twenty miles 
away, A rise of even six inches may make it 
impassable ; you may stagger through two 
feet of rough torrent ; six inches more may 

when you sink deep into thick mud, I rim 
indebted to Mr. R. B. Marston, editor Fishing 
Gazette, for this valuable advice, I have had 
very bad times myself in mud, on the banks of 
the It chen, when wading ; also when scouting. 
At a pinch, fix your bayonet, and use your 
rifle and bayonet as a stick. Better a wet 
rifle than a dangerous ducking, I hope that 
I have said enough to prove that river- 
fording and scouting is very awkward business 
sometimes. Many a man has flung away his 
life by blundering heedlessly along unknown 
w T ater ; it is equivalent to playing blind- 
man's-buff on the edge of a cliff, 

A Wild-Fowler is a, Trained Scout. 

An e WcffifffflWEftrff ntcessity ' a 



trained scoot, His object is to see, without 
being seen, wild- fowl flying or at rest. He 
would spot an aeroplane the moment it hove 
in sight , just as he spots wild-duck on the 
horizon miles away. He takes no risks ; he 
will wait prone on the ground ever so long, 
patitntly, till he can see where the birds are 
going to. He locates them with extreme care. 
He notes everything ; just as a soldier should 
when there are Germans about. 

A wild-fowler seldom loses his way, even in 
a strange country. It is very serious when 
a soldier in active service gets lost. Let me 
illustrate this. In the Peninsular War, Lord 
Wellington on one occasion manoeuvred 
Marshal Soult's army into a very perilous 
position. In an hour or so it would have 
been destroyed- Most unfortunate! y ; at the 

critical moment, two drunken British soldiers, 
who had lost their way, were captured. They 
were hurriedly examined by Soult himself, 
who saw his danger, and just slipped away in 
time. Drunkenness and ignorance of their 
position, on the part of two British soldiers, 
deprived Wellington of a great victory. 
Next time you see a soldier recovering from 
drunkenness, tell him that story ; it may keep 
him sober for life. A soldier who is a hard 
drinker can never lie a first-rate scout. 
Drunkenness is degrading enough in peace ; 
it is a crime in war, a deadly sin against King 
and Country. 

How to Approach Farm Buildings. [See 
Illustration No. 5.) 

Practise going out to a fixed point (say 
farm buildings, or a hill half a mile away) by 

Scouts route locating Cjo< 
to be tit naivk A or at $ % f >?? 

, Fum - tJ$W2 

Scoot makes a ^fef^Jtf 
fo O stay at ail »*J&&& 
pomto marked « *jfv»l!j 

around him as ^Jj^^gSj 
sugdesfed in ^H foK's 


Ho\v> to^^ 


Based upon rhe 
Ordnance Survey 
Map, wirh the 
sanction of the 
Controller of H.M. 
Stationery Office, 






% > >4. 

following along hedgerows, 

fences, banks, or rough 

ground so that no one can 

see you ; imagine that a 

keen aeroplane scout is 

searching for you. Map 

out your course with 

thoughtful precision, watch- 
ing and noting everything as 

you go along, both in front 

and behind, above and below. 
Remember that bullocks 

will infallibly follow a crawl- 

ing man, and even surround 

him (as I know only too 

well when stalking wild fowl). 

This cuts both ways, so 

always watch the behaviour 

of cattle ; even note which 

way they are looking, if 

they are quietly feedings 

or restless. 

It is the little things that 

count when you are scouting. 

Don't chatter if there are 
two of you. Silence is 
golden. Extra care in 

passing a gap, or a hedge, 
may mean much — so may failure, or 
otherwise, to take advantage of a slight 
roughness in the ground, when passing 
over open spaces. Here extreme caution 
and preliminary study j re necessary- go 
slow, and, in going, look for signs of men's 
tracks, especially in muddy places, along 
ditches, in gateways, and through gaps in 
hedges, across plank- bridges, near farm 
buildings— in short, everywhere, Look back 
frequently. Doing this prevents your being 
successfully followed ; further, it helps you 
very materially to know your way back, 
especially in the dark. Note all newly- made 
gaps and disturbances in htdges, rushes, 
thick vegetation, or crops; these may give 
you a clue to the existence of a sniper's haunt. 
Farm buildings, barns, sheds, cowhouses, 
hay, straw, and wood-stacks, and the like 
should be watched very cautiously— even for 
a prolonged period sometimes — before being 
approached, and should be circuited^ where 
possible, with a view to discovering fresh 
tracks leading to and fro, or a tele phone- wire 
leading to a German observation-post. 

As far as possible avoid approaching within 
view of window or door openings, especially 
in lofts, or suspicious holes in walls and roofs. 
Watch carefully the behaviour oE all live* 
stock or wild birds, particularly starlings ; the 
absence of w Id birds in the ease of a large 


* . j*i* -;>■* 

-^ i k 

r .'. -/ , * 





'■ v*^ 







' Tv twi "3 

NttM - ~M* 

1 1 l-THL* 






range of farm buildings points to the presence 
of human beings, perliaps on the roof. 

Listen intently when near such places, and 
especially notice if the cattle or live-stock 
are restlessly moving about. If strangers are 
there they will cause cattle and farm stock to 
be uneasy, and you will hear them shuffling 
about. With luck you might hear a German 
snoring in hfs sleep ; if so, remember the 
Lustiania I In short, when scouting build- 
ings, stacks, etc:,, act as though you knew for 
certain there was a sniper there with a tele- 
scopic sight on his ride, ready to fire at you. 
Practise scouting farm buildings at home, by 
night as well as by day ; you cannot do this 
too often. 

Were I a scout at the Front I should stain 
my bunds and face with a permanent 
♦stain, especially my wrists and forehead. 
1 would even mottle my uniform imd 
cap with leopard- like spots, and com- 
placently disregard any 


n tne ease ol a I 


well knowing that hardly a single wild animal 
or bird (whose habitat is on land) is clad in 
one unbroken shade of colour. (See Illus- 
tration No. 6.) It is the duty of a scout to 
follow Nature's teaching; it is plain enough. 

Scouting by NighL 
No one can walk perfectly straight across 
a big field iji r j^j^-, .daytime, much less in the 


I $2 


dark, A man always wanders in a rough 
circle at night. The direction of the wind 
may help him to find his way 7 a knowledge 
of the stars, or a compass, if he has one. An 
observant man seldom gets lost. Every 
solder should practise night walking in the 
open country at home. Only those who are 
constantly out for hours in the open country 
at night acquire " night eyes." 1 For the want 
of them I once fell over a slumbering bullock 
in the dark. I thought there was an earth- 
quake ! Possibly the bullock thought it had 
got nightmare ! 

Never smoke in the dark ; every time you 
light a match you lose your " night eyes " for 
a minute or two, and you are signalling your 
position foolishly. Further 7 in the dark you 
cannot taste tobacco-smoke, and don't deserve 
to, either. 

Accustom yourself to being out alone in 
the open fields by night, and the darker the 
better, for hours at a time^ now at home ; it 
will help you immensely when you are on 
duty at the Front, I know of a sentry here 
in Sussex who was so nervous that he shot 
at his own shadow one bright, moonlight 
night — fortunately he was only supplied with 
blank cartridge, so there was no bloodshed, 

Scouting in Woods and Forests. 

There is much forest and woodland on the 
Continent in which fighting and scouting arc: 
inevitable. Never enter a wood of any size 
without first making a keen survey of its 
exterior outline ; note if there is airy high 
ground or a tall clump of trees in the wood 
which you could recognize from the inside. 
You may want to get out in a hurry — think 
of this before you go in. Once you are in, 
go slow— very slow, and note, and perhaps 
mark , trees on the side you may want to 
return by ; a gash with a knife will do. 

There are often streams, ditches, and dry 
gullies in woods, in which places the vegetation 
is generally thickest. In reconnoitring, as 
far as possible, follow these up very carefully ; 
you will be less easily seen. 

If there are wide paths, or rides, in a wood, 
never go straight along them; that would 
be tempting Providence, Skirt these open 
spaces ; be careful how you cross them even \ 
slip across like a shadow, perhaps on your 
stomach, Better have your stomach in a 
puddle than your heart in your mouth, or .a 
bullet in your brain. Wild birds and animals 
instinctively act with great caution on 
open spaces in woods ; take their example, 
In crossing a ride in a wood take advantage of 
al 1 shadows , avoid all sun- washed open spaces. 

If you are suspicious of some feature or 
screen don't go straight up to it, as though 
you were going to put a letter in a pillar- 
box. Go round, take time, and look at that 
place sideways, from above or below; take 
nothing for granted. Never neglect a first 
impression, that is a sort of God-given 
instinct — a relic, it may be, of a lost sense. 
In dealing with persons the same applies, 

Note the behaviour of labourers in the 
fields ; watch closely, you may detect a 
hostile scout. 

Take notice of all footmarks of men and 
horses, observe which way they point. 
Obtain a German's boot as soon as you arrive 
at the Front, preferably after bayonet 
exercise , and get the shape of the sole and 
heel in your head, after you have wiped your 
bayonet ; then you can detect a German 

Don't display your tracks heedlessly. 
Look out for empty German cartridge-cases ; 
that may help you to spot a sniper's hiding- 
place, perhaps in the branches of a tree above. 
Leave no sign of your own presence— not even 
a cigarette-end. 

Practise squirming along the ground at 
full length, like a crocodile. It is very dirty 
and unpleasant sometimes (I have done a 
mile or two in my time, when stalking), but 
it is imperative in places, Be sure and cover 
your wrists, which are very light coloured. 
Keep your rifle in front, always muzzle first, 
ready to shoot in an instant ; and take care 
not to get snow or mud into the muzzle, that 
is sometimes fatal. If you fire, load again 
instantly — don't get up, like an idiot, with an 
empty rifle (1 have done it when shooting ; 
1 am the idiot !). Don't fix your bayonet 
when scouting ; the steel will show far too 
plainly. Take every precaution to keep the 
breech of your rifle clean. Wrap it round 
with some dark cloth, if necessary ; an old 
stocking does very well. If you are supplied 
with a white respirator stain it somehow, 
otherwise it will show far too plainly, especially 
at night, under flares. 

If. when scouting alone, you hit a German, 
or think you have, and he stumbles or falls, 
keep a bead on him — he may be shamming. 
Take no risks ; you wouldn't if you were 
tiger-shooting. Certain crafty, wild beasts 
sham death — why not a German ? He may 
have a revolver handy ; though, of course, a 
scout s first duty is to observe, and therefore 
only to kill in self-defence when there is no 
alternative, and even then with cold steel if 





side of a tree-trunk has rougher bark than 
the south side. Also, it is usually greener. 

If it is dark and you are uncertain which 
way to go ; feel with your hands round a tree- 
trunk. Near the ground it will be frequently 
greasier and rougher on the north side than 
on the south side, and so you will know the 
north point. The prevailing wind is south- 
west, and it bunches small trees and shrubs 
towards the north-east ; this will give you a 
rough idea of the points of the compass. 

You can hear sounds more clearly with 
your ears near the ground. Be careful not 
to set long grass on fire by heedlessly throwing 
down matches. Don't smoke when you are 
on business bent connected with Germans. 

A list of soldiers was printed the other day 
staling why each had earned the new military 
i list inct ion. In many cases it was for 
44 Bravery and marked ability," in some 
instances for " Skill in reconnoitring/' 
Bravery is good, but cool, calculating skill in 
thought, observation, and scouting is equally 
necessary in a soldier who desires a medal and 
promotion. Think of the awful havoc which 
may result from one cunningly - hidden 
machine-gun. What a glorious moment to 
the scout who spots a hostile one* It is done 
frequently ; your chance will come soon* A 
few twigs , or thistles, or tufts of herbage 
will suffice to screen a recunihent man with 
a machine-gun. Suspect all little humpy 
screens in woods, hedges, fields^ potato- 
patches, ploughed fields ; very soon you will 
instinctively know whether such a screen is 
natural or artificial. Look closely for foot- 
marks or trails in long grass, leading towards 
suspicious points, making a careful circuit for 
this purpose* Remember that in searching 

for one thing you sometimes get information 
about another. Laborious searching, by a 
trained observer, is sure to tell sooner or later. 

In moving about, study to go quietly. A 
wild-fowler sometimes covers his boots with 
old sacking or cloth to deaden sound, which 
has the extreme quiet of a Red Indian's 
moccasin. Poachers do the same, and so do 
gamekeepers. That is why gamekeepers and 
poachers make splendid soldiers ; they have 
already found that out in the trenches. If 
there are any gamekeepers or poachers 
present, please hold up your hands ; don't 
hesitate, you will probably be promoted to be 
scouts. " The enterprising burglar " would 
make a fine scout. If anyone here knows of 
one, get him to enlist. 

Never move forward without a close study 
of your front and sides. Practise tree- 
climbing, also remaining stiff as a recumbent 
statue for an hour at a time. A scout often 
finds out more when hidden up than in roving. 
This is intensely true ; it is desperately 
difficult to restrain an inclination to move 
when you feel you ought to stay where you 
are. When roving, look behind occasionally. 
Always act as though there was a German 
after you. Practise looking fixedly at a tree 
or a small open space for half an hour or 
so without moving your eyes for a moment* 
Keep on doing this ; it is of supreme import- 
ance, obviously. 

Every regimental library should have all 
Fenirnore Cooper's Indian story-books, and 
every soldier should read them ; also " The 
Amateur Poacher," by Richard Jefferies, and, 
of course, QHqthel fiber Jock Holmes stories 


Don't blunder no:sily along a wood, like 



a driven bullock. 

I have seen a 
^reat bull-elk 
amble along in a 
Russian forest ; 
he was in u hurry, 
too, yet he went 
a wa y silently, 
almost like a 
shadow. He know 
the value of 
silence, and cer- 
tainly, he never 
lost his way* 

Sound travels 
with horrible ease 
in a wood, Go 
slowly and with 
extreme care, 
from tree to tree 
or from bush to 
bush, always on 
the shady side 
when possible ; 
watch and listen 
for all you are 
worth. If the 
trees are big t and 
thick with leaves , 
front and around. 
up, but a man 
soldiers fail here. 




look up, as well as in 
Few wild leasts ever look 
should. Most town -bred 
There have actually been 
recent cases at the Front where our men, 
fighting in a wood, have failed to notice 
Germans hidden up in trees right above them ; 
and in winter time, too ! 

Importance of Ob- 
serving Behaviour 
of Wild Birds and 

X o w h ere a 

k n o w 1 e d g e of 
birds and animals 
should help, You 
will seldom find 
birds, rabbits, or 
hares in the inner 
depths of a big 
wood ; the out- 
skirts are some- 
times full of them. 
You might find 
a hidden battery, 
though ! 

Before entering 
a wood, notice if 
the birds are leav- 
ing it hurriedly 5 
or trying to 
settle, and not 
doing so ; which 
means that there 
are men about. If 
birds freely enter 
stay there, yoti 

a wood,, or a he dye, and 

may be sure there is no man there. 

Personally, I wouldn't dream of scouting 
with a Service tap on, unless I had previously 
sat or stamped on it sideways- 1 would 
almost as soon have a full moon on my hcad. 
(Ses Illustrations 7 & 8j showing how prominent 
these eaps are, and how r easily they may be 



km. his prbsbmcb MQmjinal from 




made less noticeable by mottling them, after 
the fashion of a woodcock s plumage.) 

If there is a man, or a body of men in a 
wood, all the birds and animals know it. 
They will be uneasy, and show it. Hide 
yourself cleverly, taking care to cover your 
legs so that neither man,, beasts, nor birds 
can see them } it is the legs of a man which 
reveal his presence most. (See Illustration 
No. 9-) Then note the behaviour of the birds 
and animals by eye and ear. A rabbit may 
rome along , obviously uneasy ; he will stop 
and listen with ears upright, and then dart 
off away from danger, A pheasant may 
come along, also uneasy ; he has spotted a 
man or a body of men somewhere, just as 
surely as he will presently spot you. They 
know, and they will indicate to another near 
you (if there is one) that you are there, which 
may or may not be awkward. Wood-pigeons j 
and jays are marvellously clever* and give 
noisy warning when disturbed -if you are 
the disturber lie low for a time and listen and 
observe intently before you move on. 

Small birds behave in the same way* They 
are not so plentiful in France as in England* 
but still they are there. 

My brother (alas, now in a soldier's grave I ), 
when in the trenches in France, on Christmas 
morning , near Peronne, had breakfast with a 
robin, some chaffinches, and bullfinches. He 
loved birds, and they found him out even in 
the firing-line. He often heard plover and 
partridges calling at night. 

There are, of course, birds in the open 
fields, as well as in hedgerows and woods, 
Seagulls , herons, rooks, magpies, jackdaws, 
hawks, wood-pigeons, partridges, starlings, 
plover, and all sorts of birds as in England, 
Watch these, and they will tell you something 

When you are lying up on duty, note the 
behaviour of the birds flying past. Rooks, 
crows, jackdaws, and wood- pigeons take long 
flights. They know their districts perfectly ; 
so ought you (Hi n den burg scored heavily over 
l he Russians because he knew every inch of 
the Masurian Lake country). If you see 
birds flying low and easily, you can be sure 
there is no disturbing element about ; but if 
you see a crow or a wood-pigeon, for instance, 
suddenly swerve and dart upwards, you may 
lie sure that he has seen a man or a body of 
men, possibly inside a wood, behind hedges, 
in a trench, or in a farm-yard, or hiding on 
roofs. Don't think, for a moment, that you 
can hide your body in a hedge, ditch, or 
gully, or behind a bush so that birds won't 
see you* You can't do it. ,• 

Watch all long-flight birds keenly, you 
will learn something, Let the habit grow on 
you. You ought to know by instinct the 
difference in the flight of a tame pigeon and a 
wild one. A carrier-pigeon conveys messages, 
you know. 

Sound* Made by Bird* at Night* 

It is extremely important to listen to the 
flight and cries of birds at night. If you hear 
the swish of wings in the dark, say, from a 
covey of partridges or wood-pigeons crashing 
out of a thicket h then you know there is a 
disturbing element about. If you hear 
partridges calling at night in a field, you may 
be pretty sure there is no one there ; that 
may be useful. Small birds, thrushes, black- 
birds, larks, and birds generally make a noise 
when disturbed at night ; so do hens, ducks, 
and geese. You may hear them some distance 
off. Why are they disturbed ? Find out. 

All this may sound like " tommy-rot " 
to some of you, but wait till you are in the 
trenches or on a scouting expedition, and in 
a lull in the dead of the night you hear 
strange sounds. It is your business to know 
what's afoot. A trained observer is seldom 
mystified, so work hard and become one here 
at home. 

In conclusion I want to paint a picture. 

Imagine yourself at the Front, on sentry 
duty in the trenches one morning at dawn. 
You, being a trained observer, had pot in 
your brain the previous night every detail 
of the ground in front and around. Well, 
the moment the light came, you, of course^ 
looked all about you, and in a moment you 
spotted Hornet hi ng in the near distance that 
Wasn't there the previous day. You at once 
reported what you saw, an officer hurried up 
with his field-glasses, and after careful 
examination he declared, l( Private Brown, 
that's splendid ! You have done it, by Jove ! 
Those are German machine -guns/ J xSoon 
that place which you, on your own initiative, 
pointed out was shelled to pieces, and that 
same day you were Corporal Brown, only 
because you proved yourself a trained 
observer by careful practice at home. 

Far too many British officers and men have 
been killed by German snipers. If you have, 
as you must have, affection for your officers, 
who have done, and are doing, so much for 
you, then now is the time to become trained 
observers and brilliant scouts, so that when 
you get to the Front you may bear the hostile 
marksmen down, and take a long, long toll 
of the German officers and snipers and avenge 
ours who have fallen] from 


Providina for Hester 

S Hester opened 
the door an 
elder woman, 
who was 
beside the 



glanced up with a faint air 
of protest. 

" There you are/ 1 she 
said, ** I thought you were 
never coming ; and your 
father might be here any minute. Where 
have you been ? '* 

" Only as far as the pier for a blow." the 
girl answered. There was a little colour -in 
her cheeks that might have been the effect of 
this, and her eyes were shining. Hester 
Hartley was approaching the age when an 
unmarried woman may be spoken of by the 
vulgar as " no chicken ;> ; tall, angular, with 
a usually plain face that to-night, however, 
was flushed into a look almost of attractive- 
ness. She smoothed her hair, a strand of 
which the wind had unsettled, and stooped 
as though in search of something* 

11 He's got cutlets for tea, hasn't he ? M 
she asked. il He " was her father. 

(t And asparagus/' answered Mrs. Hartley, 
w T ith housewifely pride* 

" Fm glad of that;* the girl said. E As- 
paragus-evenings are almost always 

11 What a w T ay to talk ! " Then, as Hester 
advanced towards the fire, " What have you 
got there ? ? ' 

*' I thought I'd put his slippers to warm;' 

41 Well I " said Mrs. Hartley, surprised. 

*■ Mother," said Hester, suddenly, on her 
knees before the fire, li you know IVe always 
tried to be a good daughter to you and father." 

44 I don't know one thing," answered her 
mother, still apparently possessed by a vague 
sense of grievance — " and that's what has 
come over you lately to make you so fidgety," 

" Don't you ? Has it ever occurred to 
you how r old I am ? " 

She put the question dispassionately, not 
looking at her mother, but staring into the 
fire. Mrs. Hartley was visibly discomposed 

byit - Digitized by G* 



" My dear ! " she said, 

(i I'm twenty -eight and 
a bit over. Quite soon I 
shall lie thirty;' 

lh We all of us have to 
grow old/' observed Mrs, 

** Yes," the girl answered. 
"But we live first ; 
some do, at any rate. Mother," she 
eit on. "think! Do for once think of 
it from my point of view. What have I 
been doing all this time ? Just sitting 
hare with you and father, and letting every- 
thing go by me. I've wanted not to mind. 
Night after night I've cried myself to sleep-—" 
11 Every hotly cant get husbands, if that's 
what you mean," said Mrs, Hartley, sen- 
tentiously. " You've had the same chance 
as other girls." 

" No ! " The fierce yet controlled voice 
shook a little. " That's not true ! Every 
chance —it's your own word — that ever I had 
has been deliberately taken away from me. 

I know I'm not pretty or attractive ; I've 
made up my mind to that. But in spite of 
it f there were people — — " 

She broke off, almost although struggling for 
breath. Then, in a different tone, went on :— 

11 Do you remember that Mr. Thompson, 
when I first went to help at the library, six 
years ago ? He used to walk home with me. 
Then he asked if he could calL Well— you 
know what happened then ! " 

1 Your father never approved of that 
library/' said Mrs. Hartley, " Almost a 
shop, he called it." 

" Anyhow," Hester continued, " that's all 
in the past. And — and I thought it wasn't 
the sort of thing that was ever likely to 
happen again." 

A great lipht began to dawn on her hearer, 
u You don't mean to say it has ! SJ she gasped, 

il Apparent lv. h ' 

" Wdl ! But '* — instinctively the elder 
woman's mind turned to what was its in- 
variable problem in moments of stress — 

II what abobtiiytaJrfiEatrher ? " 




Hester pointed laconically to the slippers, 
now warming before a cheery blaze. 4t That's 
why ! " she said. 

" You're going to tell him to-night ? " 
asked Mrs, Hartley, awestruck. 

11 I think he means to tell him himself," 

The significance of this new tL he " was by 
no means lost upon the mother. She stared 
at her daughter, at first incredulously, then 
with gradually increasing interest. ** I'm 
that surprised I don't know what to say/' 
she said. " How did it come about ? " 

Hester mused for a second without answer- 
ing. Then she said, slowly, " I saw him first 
only about a fortnight ago, when I went out 
to the post in the evening. He used to be 
hanging about by the pillar, as though he 
were waiting for somebody. Of course, I 
never thought he could be waiting for me. 
But— he was. And one thing seemed to lead 
to another. I met him once or twice by acci 
dent. Then I liegan to arrange meetings/' 

fl Well ! " said Mrs. Hartley. Hers was 
the age-old astonishment of parents at the 
duplicity of youth. " What's his name ? " 
she asked. 

u George Perm " said Hester, After a 
moment, knowing the question to be only a 
cover for others, she added ! " He works at 
something in London, I don't know what. 
He's down here on a holiday," 

i£ Well ! " repeated the mother again, 
" And what— what does he talk about ? " 

* £ That's one of the strangest things. He 
seems so interested in— in us. Me, and you, 
and father. He's never done with asking 

There was a certain pathos in the naive 
surprise that was lost upon Mrs, Hartley. 
" Your father don't like his affairs gossiped 
about/* she said, sharply. 

It was quite true, as experience had taught 
Hester before this. Ever since she could 
remember anything she could recall as the 
motto of her parent, " Keep ourselves to 
ourselves," That was why life had been so 
monotonously quiet, why no visitors came 
to the little house in the side street that was 
her home,, why her few T friendships had been 
so assiduously discouraged. 

M Oh/' she said, defensive, %i I didn't tell 
him much. How could I ? Something in 
the City, that's all. But it seemed so queer 
and wonderful that he should want to know ! " 

Mrs. Hartley brushed this on one side. 
" And he's coming to see your father about it 
to-night ? " she persisted. 

" I told him any time after seven/' said 

The words had scarcely left her lips when 
both women started guiltily at the familiar 
sound of a key being inserted in the front door, 
Their eyes met, " I declare/' said Mrs. 
Hartley, rising tremulously, " you've made 
me all of a fluster. We — we must keep calm, 
and tell him gradually/' 

Then the door opened, and the subject of 
their remark came in quickly, 

Rupert Hartley was a small, neatly-dressed 
man, who scarcely gave one the impression 
of a domestic tyrant- His lined face and thin, 
grey Ijeard might have belonged to any age 
from fifty upwards. As usual on his return 
from the u office " he carried a small and 
much-worn leather bag, which he placed on 
a corner of the mantelshelf before nodding to 
the two women and sinking into the one com- 
fortable chair that the room contained— the 
same from which Mrs, Hartley had just risen. 

" Evening, mother ! " he said. £l Halloa, 
kiddie ! " to Hester. " Well, here I am again. 
And glad to be back." 

" Had a tiring day, father ? M asked Mis, 
Hartley, solicitously. 

u So-so. Hit more work than usual, 
because I'm giving up that Cannon Street 

"Why!" said Mrs, Hartley, surprised, 
M that's the third change this year ! " 

<( Yes. And I'll tell you what, old lady," 
returned her husband — " I'm thinking about 
making a bigger change yet, and giving up 

" Giving up ? " 

" Aye, Chucking business, and settling 
down here to enjoy my old age, I've earned 
it," Suddenly he broke off, with a look of 
astonishment, u Halloa ! Who's been put- 
ting my slippers to warm ? " 

A hurried signal of intelligence passed 
between Mrs. Hartley and Hester ; then the 
latter, nerving herself with an effort, answered, 
" I did, father." 

" Wants something out of her dad, FH be 
bound ! " returned Hartley, heavily playful, 
" Well, well, well discuss that after tea. Is 
it ready ? " 

" Here's Susan just coming," said Mrs. 
Hartley ; and in effect at that moment the 
maid appeared with a tray. " There's cutlets 
and asparagus, Rupert," she added. 

1( Capital t " He mused for a space, em- 
ployed in changing from boots to the warmed 
slippers, f * Yes, Settle down/' he continued, 
half aloud. [t Sit on the pier in the mornings. 
Maybe an alderman before I've finished. 
That would be the crowning touch ! " with a 
chuckle Original from 



* c I'm sure I 
don't see why 
you shouldn't l*e, 
Rupert." purred 
Mrs. Hartley, 
hut the tribute 
passed un- 
heeded. Her bus- 
hand had lifted 
the black bag on 
to his knee, and 
was engaged in 
running his eye 
over certain 
papers that he 
liad taken from 

The family 
watched in re 
sportful silence. 
Susan , having 
completed her 
task, went out. 
Then, suddenly, 
Hester spoke 
again, breaking 
the hush with an 
effect strangely 
significant and 

i( Father" she 
said, <£ there's — 
there's a visitor 
earning t o see 
you to-night." 

Hartley set 
down his papers 
and turned to 
face the speaker. 
He could hardly 
have looked 
more surprised if 
the table had 
found a voice* 
14 Visitor ? " he repeated. 

Poor Mrs. Hartley gathered consternation 
from her lord's tone* u Only — only a man, 
Rupert/' she ventured, lamelv. 

The remark was ignored. " Who is it ? '* 
repeated Hartley, frowning at his daughter, 

" Mr, Perrin, his name is, father. He's a 
friend of mine." 

11 A friend of your* I " Hard to reproduce 
the incredulity of the last word ; it stung the 
girl like a blow, A spot of colour appeared 
in her pale cheeks, but she controlled herself 
with an effort. "He wants to speak to you 
about something/' she said* 


" Oh, does he ? And about what, If I mai 

*' Father, surely you can understand ! " 

Mrs. Hartley essayed another timid inter- 
polation. gi It's like that young Thompson 
was. Rupert, from the library/' she explained. 
This time her effort had more success. 
Hartley stared from mother to daughter with 
a look of gradual comprehension. Then he 
flung himself back in his chair and laughed 

" Oh ? that's it, is it ? ,? he cried u More 
flirtations ! ? ' The relief of his manner was 
obvious, if incomprehensible, 




"He asked the < twirl if he might call/* 
ventured Mrs. Hartley^ encouraged. 

" So you're in it too, eh, mother ? " 

" I ? No, Rupert ; dear imi, no ! I've 
never even seen him/' 

"I've told you, father.' 1 su : d Hester, 
" George Petri n is a friend of mine, so he 
naturally wants to meet you," 

<L Does he ? " Her parent waxed sarcastic, 
" Very flattered, I'm sure. Wants to meet 
my money y too, I dare say." 

" You've no right to say that, before you've 
even seen him, 71 

11 Hoity-toity ! " Hartley bantered her. 

"I apologi ze + 
But/' with a 
change of tone, 
" I've a fairly 
shrewd idea of 
the kind of idle 
young w aster 
that comes buzz- 
ing round a girl 
if he thinks her 
father is well off. 
Somebody no 
one's ever heard 

It seemed that 
both the elder 
Hartleys r e - 
garded this as a 
strong point in 
the suitor's dis- 
favour. " Where 
did vou pick him 
up ?'" 

" In the street /' 
returned Hester, 
defiant. "Where 
else should 1 meet 
anyone ? " 

" I thought as 
much ! " 

il Yes. IJecausc 
you've kept us, 
mother and me, 
shut up all these 
years, as if you 
were afraid to let 
us be seen. And 
already you've 
made up your 
mind. You're 
going to take the 
worst view of it, 
and put obstacles 
in the way. Well ! 
I've made up my 

mind, too. You slia'n't treat me any more 

as though I were a child I " 

A sudden flame of rage had blazed up 

in the girl, transfiguring her. The words 

came in an impetuous torrent from her 


" I mean it ! T * she cried. " We're past all 

that now, I've put up with it because I was 

weak and a coward, but now ,! 

She stopped suddenly, arrested by the 

only sound that could have produced this 

effect— the ringing of the front-door bell. 

There was a moment's silence. 
" And now ? 55 repeated Hartley. 




" That's maybe him/' whispered Mrs. 

■* Perhaps/* Hester's father rose slowly 
from his scat. He addressed the girl with a 
kind of grudging respect. "Well, I'll see 
this young man. Mind: ' he added, checking 
ei movement of gratitude, ll I make no 
promises. But I'll see him," 

(1 You'd better go and open the door, dear/' 
suggested Mrs, Hartley, 

* l She'd better do no such thing ! " snapped 
her husband. n What do we keep a servant 
for ? Let Susan go/' 

•* Yes, Rupert," said Mrs. Hartley, meekly. 
So they all waited, in a tense , expectant 

The man who entered was about Hester's 
age , quietly dressed, and not ill-looking. 
He came in briskly, with an air of alert self- 
confidence that gradually yielded, in the 
awkward pause that ensued,, to one faintly 
amused, and as faintly antagonistic. 

Hartley returned his greeting with a nod ; 
the women said nothing. 

The visitor shuffled his feet and glanced 
from father to mother, a quick look of inquiry. 
Not once did he turn his eyes in the direction 
of Hester, who watched the scene, herself 
miserahly embarrassed and self-conscious. 

At last Hartley bent a grim smile on his 
visitor ; it was clear that he had been enjoy- 
ing the general discomfiture. 

" You came to see me ? " he asked. 

Perrin faced him, quietly resolute. " I 
ventured to ask Miss Hartley when I should 
find you at home," he said. 

16 Well— you have." 

" With a view to five minutes' conversa- 
tion with you in private." 

Rupert Hartley turned towards his wife, 
" Hear that ? " he asked. Mrs. Hartley rose 
obediently. " Perhaps I'd better go and put 
tea back a bit, Rupert," she said. 

tf Aye, do/' he answered, *' This young 
gentleman says five minutes ; give us ten. 51 
Secretly Hester's father had teen impressed 
by the demeanour of her suitor. But it was 
not his method to betray this, 

Mrs. Hartley fluttered towards the door 
that was politely held open for her by the 
young man. The smile of timid encourage- 
ment that she ventured to bestow upon 
Perrin met, however, with no response. He 
looked very stern, she thought. 

Then at last Hester spoke. " Do you 
want me to go, too, father ? " 

" I ? " Hartley was grimly sardonic, fi I've 
Dot been consulted/* 

For a moment the girl hesitated. Then, 

by Google 

" Very well/' she said, and followed Mrs. 
Hartley, with head erect. 

Perrin, who had not met her eyes, dosed 
the door, and returned slowly towards his 

" Now," began Hartley, comfortably. u It 
doesn't need much guessing on my part to 
twig what you're after.*' 

Perrin glanced at him, M There I think 
you may be mistaken, Mr. Hartley," he said, 

" Oh, I may, may I ? Well, sit down, 

" Thanks." 

" You have not," continued Hartley, 
lighting his pipe, " come here after my girl, 
I suppose ? Oh, dear, no I " He chuckled. 

" No," answered Perrin. (l As a matter 
of fact, Fve come here after you." 

(i After me ? " The match burnt un- 
noticed to his fingers. Hartley was staring 
at the young man with a face grown suddenly 
grey and startled. Then he laughed uneasily. 
u This is some sort of a joke, eh ? " he said. 

" Not at all," returned the other. " Per- 
fectly serious. Perhaps I might have made 
my meaning clearer if I had addressed you 
by the name of Ross." 

" Ross I " The shadow on the listener's 
face deepened. " I — I don't understand 
you ! " 

" Oh, yes, I think you do. And let's see, 
there was Carmichael t>efore that, wasn't 
there ? And Watson ? " 

The pipe fell to the ground as Hartley 
sprang up, livid and furious. " Out of my 
house ! " he shouted. 

Perrin did not move. " Yes," he said, 
placidly, il that's about the only argument 
you've got left, And not a good one," 

His cool self-assurance was not without its 
effect on the elder man. After staring at 
him for a moment, Hartley flung himself 
back in his chair again. 

£{ You think you know a fat lot ! " he 
snarled, " Let's hear it. Mind, I admit 
nothing. Rut let's hear it," 

" That's more reasonable/' answered Perrin, 
" And your admissions, Mr, Hartley, would 
really be superfluous. Our information is 
remarkably complete." 

Seeing that the other merely stared at him 
in silence, he produced a bulky pocket-book 
and slipped back the elastic, il To explain 
the position," he said, li it may be necessary 
for me to trouble you with a few details as to 
my own career. You don't mind ? " 

" One minute ! " Hartley interrupted him 
huskily. " What are you — a detective ? " 

" Oh, dear, no ! " said Perrin, smiling. 

Original from 






'* Nothing so melodramatic. I'm a journalist, 
Mr. Hartley." 

" A journalist ? " 

" An investigator, if you prefer the term. 
It's rather a new development of the power 
of the Press. As a matter of fact, the idea of 
my present job came to me somewhat sud- 
denly through a man yon may have heard of, 
named Horace WaHord." 

" VValford ! ]? For the second time Hartley 
seemed to stagger beneath the shock of 
astonishment. " He's dead," 

" Yes. But he wasn't when I met him. 
It was about a year ago. You may recall 
the circumstances. He was run over by a 

by t^ 


motor and died shortly afterwards. At that 
time he was in your employ as, shall we say, 
confidential clerk ? ** 

Hartley moistened his dry lips. :i If you've 
come here to blackmail me about Walford — " 
he muttered. " I did everything I could for 
the man/' 

" Ah, precisely ! An elementary precau- 
tion that you would hardly neglect. No. 
My point is that at the time we speak of I 
was a young reporter, and was sent by the 
paper I then represented to interview Walford 
after the accident. He wasn't able to tell 
me much, but his wife volunteered to take 
down a few facts as soon as he was able to 

Original from 



recount them, for which I might call later in 
the day, When I came again the man was 
unconscious, but I got the paper* It was 
hang with others on the table by his bed — 
the others being those that had been in his 
pocket when he was brought home. 

(i In the interests of my profession I 
naturally glanced through these, and eventu- 
ally took copies of them. You can perhaps 
recall their character ? ? ' 

A ha If -articulate oath brake from Hartley. 

11 Precisely ! ,? agreed the young man. 
" Amongst other things, they gave one of 
the most thoroughly incriminating accounts 
possible of Carmiehad and Co,, who had 
recently baffled the police with so much 
success. This, of course, interested me, and 
with it in my possession I was able to work 
backwards and forwards till I had a fairly 
dear idea of your activities/* 

He consulted the pocket-book. tL I know, 
L; sample, all about the begging-letter 
business in '89, and again, under different 
names, in 1Q07 and last winter. Then t lie re 
was the bucket-shop — Watson^ wasn't it ? — 
much the same dodge as you've been working 
just lately as Ross. As for the rest ,J 

u Stop ! ,J Hartley had risen ; he steadied 
himself with one hand on the back of his 
chair, passing the other over his forehead, 
which was damp and gleaming. 

is There's plenty more/' said the visit or, 
He glanced curiously at his victim ; then 
replaced the pocket -book. 

Hartley seemed to have abandoned all 
pretence of denial. (i Thirty-five years, 
nearly, " he was muttering to himself, li and 
only to-day I'd made up my mind to give it 
up and settle down with my earnings ! " 

Perrin + sears caught the last word. * f Ah,'* 
he said, briskly business-like. *' Those must 
be a tidy sum by now. I should, of course, 
be glad of any additional particulars. It all 
adds to the interest." 

Hartley did not seem to heed. " What are 
you going to do about it ? f1 he asked, dully. 

" At present/ 1 said Pterin, w Our intention 
is to publish your whole story in weekly 
instalments, leaving the authorities to take 
what steps they choose." 

£t That means — smash ! " The old man's 
hand went to his mouth and fluttered there. 
irresolute. He looked so broken and pitiable 
that the journalist averted his eyes. 

( * Of course, Mr, Hartley," he said, H I 
sympathize with you, but you'll understand 
that for us the thing is a pure matter of 

11 Would money square you ? " 

by Good C 


" Hardly wliat you would be in a position 
to offer. We've been to considerable c\pense 
over this investigation, and naturally we look 
for a big return. Frankly, you ought to be 
a scoop, Mr, Hartley. Indeed, itll be the 
biggest thing the Lantern has done yet," 

^ The — whatt" The words had broken 
from Hanky with such a vehemence of sur- 
prise that Perrin started, 

"The Lantern" he explained. u The 
weekly paper for which I am working." 

* l Heavens ! That's done it ! " 

Perrin stared, bewildered, at the startling 
change that his words had produced in the 
old man. " Done what ? " he asked, 

" Let me out ! " cried Hartley, " What 
an escape ! " 

His eyes shone and every muscle of his face 
was working convulsively* He came and 
stood over the young man, looking down upon 
him in triumph. *' Why. man/' he cried, 
" you and your investigations and your 
Lantern — they're mine ! " 

" Yours ? " For a moment Perrin sup- 
posed that the shock had turned the other's 
brain ■ he seemed to be raving, 

11 Mine, I tell you ! I am the Lantern ! 
Nine-tenths of the money for it is my money, 
that 1 made and saved and put in, I could 
smash it to-morrow if I chose." He burst 
into a shout of laughter. ** You've been 
investigating your owner, my lad ! " 

M Mr + Hartley," the young man stam- 
mered, overcome by this sudden turn of 
events, (t this is a serious matter ! How do 
I know that you are speaking the truth ? " 

11 Truth ? v Hartley cried. " You go hack 
and ask your editor who holds his shares. 
Bliss and Saker, those are the two chief pro- 
prietors. Both me ! nJ 

*' I — I hardly know what to say," 

u Of course you don't ! " The old ro«ue 
was magnanimous in his triumph. (i I bear 
you no malice E This apj>eals to my sense of 
humour, that's what it does ! " He picked 
up his pipe, which had fallen, disregarded, 
from his lips in the shock of exposure, and 
settled himself again in his chair. 

*' Yes/' he said, chuckling reflectively ; 
tl the Lantern's been a good proposition, 
though I never realized till now how good, 
But I knew thore'd be plenty (if the godlv 
willing to pay their Wednesday penny to see 
the others tormented ! ri 

" The Lantern is doing a great work/* 
remarked Perrin. stiffly. He seemed to be 
vainly trying to recover his self-possession, 

" Quite so/' agreed Hartley. 4i That's 
what I say- Pm perfectly satisfied/' 

Original from 



" But your information naturally places 
me in a somewhat awkward position/' 

The other chuckled again* " You did 
that to me, my lad/ ? he said, " five minutes 
ago. When you called me Ross just then it 
was one of the nastiest shocks I've had- And 
Tve had some bad ones in my time ; moments 
when I've felt the rope round my neck," 

11 Fraud is not a capital offence, Mrj 
Hartley/* observed Perrin* 

rt Well, well ! Can't I express myself I » 
His escape had brought back all the trucu- 
knee of the master of the house. He began 
to talk boast full y s recounting one successful 
knavery after another ; it was as though, the 
necessity for his long concealment over, self- 
glorification could no longer be denied* 
Perrin listened in an embarrassed and some- 
what wistful silence, There was mate rial 
here and in plenty ; but the pity was that 
it should be un usable j At last he rose* 

" This is all very interesting/' he said j 
" but perhaps I ought to l)e moving. We 
are keeping Mrs. and Miss Hartley waiting/* 

The words brought Hester's father to 
an abrupt pause. He recalled suddenly an 
element in the situation that had been 
altogether forgotten, i4 Miss Hartley/' he 
repeated, In a changed voice. " Thanks for 
reminding me. You got admission here in 
the first place by making love to my girl." 

Ferrin began to look uncomfortable* 
" Hardly quite that," he said; " but 1 was 
obliged to obtain some particulars, and— 
well, there was only one obvious way." 

Hartley regarded him, not for the first 
time, with a kind of admiration* *' Pretty 
cool customer, aren't you ? ,J he said, " Oh, 
I'm not blaming you. Every man to his 
job, and — you look like succeeding in yours." 

" I mean to/- answered Perrin, as one who 
acknowledges a compliment. " But I'm not 
saying/' he added, after a moment, " that I 
wouldn't rather not have had to do it, Fve 
got my feelings, same as other people," 

M I see," said Hartley. " Then there was 
really nothing between Hester and you ? It 
was a mere— matter of business ? ,J 

hi I admired your daughter, of course. 
Very greatly admired her. If I were it a 
position to marry, I might even That 

was what made me hate what I was 
doing. But, after all— duty is duty." 

" A noble sentiment." 

Perrin was anxious to *nd the interview, 
the recent turn of which was by no means to 
his taste. w So 111 wish you good evening,' 1 
he said. il I shall, of course, tell the editor 
that this affair goes no farther." 

DigilizGd by ^OOgle 

c You can leave that to me," said Hartley, 
grimly. " And the results — er — of your in^ 
vestigation ? " 

" Naturally, I shall take those somewhere 

If Hartley was staggered for a moment by 
this frank avowal he did not show it, " I 
wonder," he said. Then, watching his 
visitor closely, he added : l ' I've been getting 
the notion, Perrin, during the last few minutes, 
that I might take a hand in the Lantern myself < 
Til want something to fill up my time ; and 
there's good money in it if it was properly 

" Undoubtedly-' 1 Perrin looked, with ex- 
cuse, a little mystified as to the precise 
bearing of this remark. 

Ei If I had a live man to work with," went 
on Hartley, " who meant to succeed, Vd make 
it worth his white. We'd have to do some- 
thing with the present chap, because he knows 
too much to be chucked. But there's a 
fortune waiting for the fellow that I "chooaa* 
to push." 

Perrin began to think he saw daylight* 
i; Do you mean me ? " he asked, bluntly. 

All at once Hartley had become the man of 
affairs, keen and business-like. " Look here, 
Perrin," he said, drawing a chair to the 
table beside which the young man sat, and 
confronting him eagerly. iC YouVe been 
spooning my girl. To you, perhaps, it was 
nothing ; just a trick of your trade," 

" I've explained all that " 

:i Not to her," persisted Hartley; "she 
thinks it serious. So far as I can make out, 
she actually likes you. Now, Fve always 
intended that if a man came along who wasn't 
a fool or too much of a knave, he could have 
her." He leant buck, watching the effect of 
his words, " Well ? " 

Perrin had changed countenance. The 
rapidity of the other's tactics bewildered and 
shocked him. " Mr. Hartley," he exclaimed. 
" your attitude is preposterous. The thing's 
impossible ! " 

[( Why ? Are you married already ? " 

" Certainly not." 

" Very well, then/' said Hartley, with an 
air of relief. " Let me tell you it's not such 
a had offer. 1 make it," he went on, cunningly, 
(£ because I believe that if you and I ROt 
together there's almost nothing Wi * couldn't 

The suggestion was flattering, if ambiguous. 
Perrin was clearly moved by it. 

u It's a risk, of course/* went on Hartley. 
" To speak candidly, you aren't anything like 
worthv of Hester in one way. But a man 
Original from 





can tie a pretty big rogue and a good husband, 

I ou^ht to know that." 

" You forget," Perrin suggested, " that 
there is also a certain risk attached to enter- 
ing your family/ 3 

" Not at all," returned the head of it. 

II Hut the money is safe, anyhow* Td settle 

my interest in the Lantern on Hester, She'd 
have that — whatever happened to me." 

" I see," said Perrin, He was still con- 
fused, hut thinking, 

" So there it is," continued Hartley, 
" One of my professional max-ms has always 
been — When von see what von want, don't 

by Google 

Original from 



waste time^ I've made my offer ; take it or 
leave it ! " He leant back with an air of 

It was perhaps this manner that decided 
Perrin* It made him forget what he had just 
now admitted about his feeling for Hester* 
After all, there were certain conventions in 
such matters* " Mr, Hartley," he said, 
abruptly, *' I'm sorry. The thing is im- 
possible. It's indecent." 

Hartley rose at once. Another of his 
maxims might have been never to betray 
irritation at failure. u Of course, if you 
begin talking about decency,'' he observed, 
grimly sarcastic, li there's no more to be 

11 Fm sorry," repeated Perrin. 

" Not at all." His host moved to the bell 
beside the fireplace and rang it. " You've 
given me fair warning, and I must now make 
my own arrangements. It can't be helped," 

M Of course/' began the young man, (l I 

fully realize " He never finished his 

sentence, for on the instant the door flew 
open, rather as though someone without had 
been eagerly awaiting the signal of the bell, 
and "Hester appeared. She stood looking 
from one to the other of the two men, flushed 
and anxious, but with a light in her eyes that 
her father at least had never seen there before. 
He winced from it, 

f It was for Susan I rang," he said, Irritably* 
" To show this — gentleman —out." 

"Ill do that, father/* said the girl. Their 
faces had told her nothing; but she turned 
to Perrin with a quick gesture of appeal. " Is 
it all ri^ht ? " she asked* 

"Aye/' said Hartley, overhearing, "you do 
well to ask him that.'* 

The young man did not answer, but Hester 
faced her father proudly. "If that means 
you've refused/" she threw at him, * ( it doesn't 
make any difference." She turned to Perrin 
again. " I'll come if you want me/' she 

The man who had made love to Iter spoke 
then ; his voice had lost its confidence, and 
sounded ashamed and broken. LC I beg your 
pardon," he said. 

'What for?" asked Hester, bewildered. 
t_ I don't understand/' 

But Perrin had met her eyes, and in the 
sight of them, so trustful and appealing, had 
taken a sudden resolution. His carefully 
controlled emotions had been stirred in a 
strange and unexpected manner. " You 
never shall/' he said, meaningly. Then he 
Ft rode past her towards old Hartley. " Mr. 

Hartley/' lit- said, " I am in your hands, I 
take back all I said just now* I accept 
your conditions I } " He glanced towards the 
girl again , seeing her changed and thrilling. 
No one had ever before looked at him like 

" And that note-book ? " 

11 Here it is/' 

The whisper, and the qiick exchange of 
the book, were over in an instant. " Good ! " 
said Hartley, aloud. 

" Oh, father ! *' To Hester the word could 
have but one meaning ; she turned upon her 
father a face transfigured with a great hope 
and astonishment* iS Then you haven't 
refused ? " 

Hartley had all at once become the benevo- 
lent parent, beaming at his prospective son- 
in-law, " No/' he said \ " he— he over- 
persuaded me/' 

With more tenderness than he had yet 
shown, he laid his hands upon the girl's 
shoulders. " And you are fond enough of 
him to chance it ? " he asked, gravely. li It'^s 
always a chance, remember." 

Hester cast one look of pride upon her 
taciturn lover, " He made me fond of him/' 
she confessed. " He could do anything. See 
how he got round you ! T ' 

Not a quiver betrayed her parent 1 s secret 
and sardonic enjoyment of the irony of this 
challenge* " Yes," he said, " he has a 
wonderfully convincing tongue/' 

iC By the way, Perrin/' he added, " what's 
your Christian name ? ,J 

(t It's George, father/' volunteered Hester, 
shyly, as her lover still kept silent. She went 
close to him, and, glancing up at his set face, 
seemed to realize that something was amiss, 
for she ventured to slip her arm confidingly 
through his. After a moment Perrin's hand 
sought and found hers, crushing it in a grip 
so fierce that it pained her. But she wel- 
comed the pain, for the strong clasp was in 
Its way an embrace ; though neither then 
nor afterwards did she know all that it meant 
of remorse and promise, 

"Well, George/' chuckled Hartley, whom 
nothing of this had escaped, " you'll stop and 
have some supper with us. of course ! " 

He turned, for at this moment the door 
opened again, and to the party of three, 
grouped thus, there entered Mrs. Hartley, 
flurried, sentimental, and intensely curious. 
Her husband greeted her with a shout oC 
unexpected laughter. 

" Mother/' he said, pointing, " this is 
George I " 

by Google 

Original from 

Deeds of Daring 
Performed for the Cinema. 



lilHiirnteti with Photographs. Jr&tn tkt Original Films. 

W ^^1 J i Jl 

N the spring of 1913, while 
George and Ernest William- 
son were in the West Indies, 
they made some mot ion- 
picture studies of a diver in a 
diver's suit, working at the 
bottom of the ocean, and 
George Williamson often posed for these 
pictures before a camera, under the water. 

In the manner of a professional, he put on 
the helmet and ponderous costume and 
descended to a convenient wreck while two 
natives pumped air to him down the hose— 
and had their own motion pictures taken at 
the same time. Unfortunately, the natives 
became so much interested in this picture- 
tak ng that at one moment they quite forgot 
to pump, thus leaving George Williamson 
fifty feet below the surface with no air to 
breathe. Had not Ernest seen the danger 
and leaped to the rescue, it is likely that 
George's career would have ended suddenly, 
for a diver's life goes out J Ike a snuffed candle 
if the air-hose fa,ls. 

Motion-picture artists are often exposed 
to such dangers through carelessness* Thus, 
in the preparation of a recent photo-play, 
the hero, bound and gagged, was thrown by 
the villain into one of the great hydraulic 
presses used to squeeze bales of cotton. Of 
course, he was supposed to escape before the 
powerful jaws came together, and the negroes 
operating the press were cautioned to be 
careful ; but they became so fascinated in 
watching the mot ion- picture man grinding at 
his machine that they allowed the huge press 
to close fully, and the hero was squeezed to a 
pancake, to the consternation of everyone, 
until it transpired, to the general relief ? that a 
dummy hero had been used, 

Another case was related *o me by Hstxry 


Ilenham, a star of the Thanhouser Company, 
who was nearly killed a few months ago while 
posing in *' A Man Without Fear," a thrilling 
melodrama, in the course of which he was 
imprisoned by Anarchists in the cabin of a 
coal barge, a real barge that lay at New 
Roche lie being used. 

Having burst his bonds, Harry crept along 
the deck over piles of coal and finally, seeing 
no other way of escape, leaped upon a great 
steam coal-shovel that was just swinging its 
black load towards the shore ; whereupon a 
Swede who was operating the icfcrricjc and 
hoisting machine, and wlio had been watching 
the pursu'ng bandits with bulging, eyes, so 
far lost his self-possession that he pulled the 
releasing lever at the wrong, moment, and 
suddenly Benham. at the top, of his flight, 
felt the coal falling away beneath him and 
found himself dropping down with the load 
through the opened shovel scoops. Franti- 
cally he dun\i to the timbers above him and 
yelled to the Swede, who now, in his agitation, 
closed the scoops so violently that the actors 
wriggl ng legs just missed being sheared off 
by the massive jaws. 

Again, Benham found himself in a situation 
of unusual danger when he acted the hero in 
a photo-play at Niagara Falls , in the course 
of which a rival lover had to throw him over 
a stone wall that runs along beside the Whirl' 
pool Rapids. William Russell was chosen to 
play the rival lover because of his immense 
strength — he stood six feet two inches and 
was as strong as u bull- Russell was supposed 
simply to drop Benham over the wall, the 
illusion being that the hero had fallen into 
the rapids, while really he was to fall on a 
narrow bank at the brink of the rapids. In 
his excitement, however, and his desire to 
give verisimilitude to his acting, Russell put 
Original from 




forth all his strength, and hurled the un- 
fortunate hero clear over wall and bank into 
the plunging river, 

" I yelled like an Indian/' said Benham, 
telling the story. " Fortunately, there was 
a rock near shore, and I clung to this until 
Russell could reach his legs out to me, fireman 
fashion, while another chap held Russell's 
hands and then pulled us both in. But, 
believe m€j it was a close shave ! " 

Stil? again in a Niagara photo-play Benham 
had a narrow escape. His sweetheart was 
on an island above the Falls, where she was 
held a prisoner by bandits, but she managed 

the foot of Niagara Falls and came baelc 
safely, a feat rhich the most venturesome 
boatman of tne river might hesitate to 

Many other motion-picture artists have had 
exciting experiences at Niagara Falls, hut the 
film taken on July 25th, 1911 ♦ by Walter 
Arthur, veteran camera-man of the Vitagraph 
Company, easily ranks first as a record of 
dare-devil achievement here, since it -shows 
the actual passage over the falls of Bobby 
Leach, the only man who ever performed th : s 
feat and lived to describe his sensations, 
And Bobby's description is rather vague: 




Photo, VvpjrtitM WU. h bobbp Loath. 

to throw into the swift river a bottle contain- 
ing an appeal for help, and she tied to this 
buttle her large hat, in the hope that it might 
attract attention. 

Meantime, her artist lover (Benham) was 
standing below the Falls painting a picture, 
Over the thundering cataract came the bottle 
and hat, which swept on through the rage 
of waters until they caught the painter's eye, 
whereupon he ? recognizing the tortured 
millinery of his beloved, pushed off into the 
furious flood, rescued the hat* found the 
message in the bottle, and ultimately saved 
the lady. 

The point is that a motion-picture actor, 
with no particular skill or experience in these 
blatters rowed out alone in a little skiff to 

by Google 

since he was unconscious in his barrel during 
most of the trip. 

For years before this great adventure Leach 
had followed an adventurous career as a 
showman and acrobat. He had made many 
balloon ascensions and had dropped often in 
a parachute, once from the height of two 
miles. He had dived from the great Suspen- 
sion Bridge, two hundred and eight feet high, 
that spans Niagara River, and four times lie 
had gone safely in a specially-constructed 
barrel through the Whirlpool Rapids, where 
Captain Webb lost his life. Finally . after 
years of hesitation, he made up his mind that 
it was possible for a man to go over the great 
cataract in a barrel and live, and, if so, he, 
Hobby Leach, was the man to do it. In vain 
Original from 




his friends and his wife {she ran a little 
restaurant near the Falls, on the Canad : an 
side) tried to dissuade h:m. The thing could 
he done , he declared, and he was going to do 
it. At this lime Leach was a white-haired 
man, well over fifty. 

Bobby proceeded slowly and cautiously, 
sticking to his own ideas, regardless of what 
scientific men told h : m. For months he 
studied the river and the cataract, locating 
hidden rocks, estimating the strength of 
treacherous swirls and eddies, making himself 
as familiar as a man can be with this stupen- 
dous and mysterious torrent. His life de- 
pended upon knowledge not to be found in 
hooks, and Bobby knew it. 

There were two things he could do to help 
his chances : he could provide the best kind 
of a barrel to carry him over the Falls, and he 
could select an advantageous point for 
launching this barrel. For weeks he experi- 
mented with kegs, beer barrels, and hogs- 
heads, setting these adrift from various points 
in the river above the Falls, from the American 
side, from the Canadian side., from this or 
that island, and then following their tumul- 
tuous courses and drawing what conclusions 
he could from them* In some cases he placed 
animals in the barrels — a cat, a dog, or a 
chickjn — to see if living creatures could go 
through that rage of waters and survive, but 
they never did* 

This did not deter the enthusiast , however, 
and he proceeded to perfect his barrel, which 
was made of quarter-inch iron plates with a 
manhole on one side and a heavy iron cover 
that could be bolted in place after Bobby was 
inside, so as to make the craft watertight. 
Near one end was a hole about an inch in 
diameter, stopped up by a champagne cork 
with a nail driven through it and a cord tied 
to the nail so that Bobby could pull the cork 
out from the inside and perhaps get a Tttle 
air if he found himself suffocating. As a 
matter of fact, he never touched this cork 
during the swift journey, because he fainted 
away when the barrel took its great plunge. 

u We had a lively time taking those motion 
pictures," said Mr t Arthur. i4 In the first 
place we had to dodge the police, who wanted 
to arrest Leach on the charge of attempted 
su; Then the big crow p d bothered us — 
there were thousands watching along the banks 
— and we had to be everlastingly quick to catch 
the barrel as it came over the Falls. We didn't 
know exactly which way to aim our camera. 

il At the start they towed the barrel out 
from a little island on the Canadian side 
about a mile above the cataract, Bobby 

was inside, with pillows at one end of the 
barrel to protect his head, and a harness of 
three-inch webbing strapped around h ; m so 
that his body would be held suspended away 
from the sides of the barrel. 

£l I was stationed on the bank at the bottom 
of the Falls with my motion picture machine 
ready, and 1 don't mind saying that I never 
expected to see Hobby Leach again. Sud 
denly I saw the black shape of the barrel with 
its sharp wooden nose poised on the brink. 
It hung there a few seconds before it plunged 
down a hundred and sixty-eight feet to the 
river below. The barrel was about nine feet 
long and three feet across, and it must have 
weighed five hundred pounds. Leach had 
built out blunt wooden noses of heavy timbers, 
boiled fast to the iron ends of the barrel, 
The idea was that these wooden noses would 
act as buffers against the rocks, and prevent 
them from smashing holes in the ends, 

u As it turned out, this was a good idea, 
and probably saved Leach's life, for after its 
b : g drop the barrel struck nose on, and the 
blow tore away most of the planks at both 
ends. After the first crash at the bottom of 
the Falls Bobby says the barrel stayed on end 
for over half a minute, and he thought it was 
wedged in the rocks at the bottom of the 
river, iind would stay there. This is when hr 

M We were waiting at a point where the 
control barrels had floated. We thought he 
would come out here, but he did not come. 
A minute passed, two minutes, and we 
searched the smooth, black surface where the 
Maid of the Mist was lying ready to help. 
Nothing ! Three minutes I It seemed like 
hours, and then, a little d stance off from the 
shore, we made out the black shape of the 
barrel sweeping on towards the rapids. 
E very body yelled, and a big strapping fellow 
from the fire-house leaped into the river and 
struck out bravely. We saw him swim up 
to the barrel, throw r one arm over it, and turn 
struggling towards the shore. Then two 
other young fellows rushed in, and among 
them they brought the barrel to the bank. 

11 All this time I was grinding out motion 
pictures, and I recorded on the film how they 
opened the manhole and worked over Bobby 
with stimulants, and finally unstrapped hiiTi 
and j;ot him out on a stretcher. Then we 
parked up our apparatus and made a hasty 
departure, for the authorities were after us. 
Poor Bobby spent weeks in the hospital, with 
both knee-caps smashed and a broken jaw. 
He said he broke it against the inside handle 
of the manhole," 

by Google 

Original from 


1 09 

Another camera artist who has had many 
adventures in mot ion-pic lure work is Cart 
Gregory, veteran camera-man of the Than- 
houser Company. 

* [ One of the first big motion-picture feats 
I remember/' he said, " was when we sent a 
White steam motor-car at full speed over the 
steepest pan of the Palisades and let her 
smash down with a wicked nobleman inside 
(played by a 
d u m m y), a 
scoundrel w h o 
had choked and 
beaten his young 
and beautiful 
American wife> 
and had fiercely 
pursued her when 
she was rescued 
by a gallant Ame- 
rican lover in his 
car. There were 
five operators 
with cameras 
ready waiting for 
the smash - up, 
one man at the 
top of the Pali 
sades to get the 
car as she toppled 
over the preci- 
pice, and four of 
us down at the 
bottom on t h e 
shore of the Hud 
son River with 
our machines 
pointed up at 
various steep 
angles. When we 
heard the director 
shout we began 
turning our 
machines } and 
each one of us got 
a section of the 
falL We had filled 
up the motor's 
tank with gaso 
lene, in the hope that she would explode in 
the air as she turned over, and sure enough 
she did- I got a picture showing the auto- 
mobile shooting straight out from the rock 
wall, then turning a clean somersault, then, 
with a smash of black smoke, blowing herself 
into a thousand pieces. One of these , a heavy 
chunk of steel, whizzed by my head and 
buried itself in the ground. We gave the wreck 
to a policeman, who sold it for forty dollars. 




by Google 

11 That reminds me of another precipice 
act that we did while I was with the Edison 
Company/' continued Gregory. " This time 
a real man leaped off a cliff over forty feet 
high straight down into a river, and a real 
horse leaped with hirn. The horse was a very 
intelligent animal named Don Fulavo, He 
could open a door and count up to ten and 
take off his master's coat and shine his shoes 

— in fact, lie was 
an educated 
horse, and had 
been on the stage 
in vaudeville. We 
had used Don 
Fulavo in several 
photo- plays, and 
once he liberated 
other horses from 
a burning stable 
and then rang the 
fire- bell, 

th In this preci- 
pice play he was 
supposed to be 
the pet horse of 
a girl who had 
been captured by 
bandits, and was 
tied to a tree 
while the villains 
ate their dinner. 
Don Fulavo 
waited hischance, 
picked up a re 
volvcr in its 
holster, and side- 
stepped over to 
the lady and un 
tied her bond* 
with his teeth. 
Then she leaped 
on his back, held 
up the bandits 
with the pistol, 
made them 
return stolen 
papers, and 
dashed off ; with 
the men after her on their horses, 

" Now came the leap, when the girl hard 
pressed along a steep cliff, suddenly turned 
her horse towards the precipice and plunged 
madly into the river below. It was a real 
river and a real cliff, at Little Falls, New 
Jersey, but the girl was changed at the last 
moment for a professional jockey in woman's 
clothes, who was paid two hundred dollars 
to do the thing. Don Fulavo had been 
Original from 



trained in high dives at Coney Island^ and all 
would have gone well but for one thing. The 
cliff was not quite perpendicular at the point 
where the leap was to be made, and it had been 
built out for a better effect by means of a 
scaffolding covered w r ith canvas and painted 
to represent rock. As Don Fulavo fathered 

rockets and landed safely \ the cat, scared, 
ran away, while the dog seemed to enjoy it. 
Encouraged by these trials. Law had a rocket 
built about twelve feet lonjj; and three feet In 
diameter, with a pole of timber four inches 
square to serve as a stick. In the head of 
the rocket was a papitt-mUM washtub for 


himself for his long plunge the timbers gave 
way, and horse and rider were whirled down 
into the gulf, the jockey falling under the 
animal, so that two of his ribs were broken 
when he struck the water. This happened in 
December when the river was hill of ice T and 
the poor chap nearly perished with cold before 
he was rescued, but Don Fulavo came out all 
right,' T 

Famous in the records of motion-picture 
sensations are the achievements of Rodman 
Law, parachute-leaper and general dare- 
devil, who, about tw r o years ago, startled the 
rountry by announcing that he would have 
himself shot up to a great height inside of a 
monster sky-rocket, and then come down to 
earth by means of a parachute. Early in 
1 91 j experiments were begun on the outskirts 
of Jersey City, where a cat and a dog, pro- 
vided with self-acting parachutes, were fired 
to a height of several hundred feet in small 

Law to stand in. and under this, inside the big 
tube, was packed five feet of sand and mud 
dug up from the Newark meadows. Finally, 
at the bottom of the tube was placed a barrel 
of powder, with an extra half-txirrel added 
at the last moment by the Italian manu- 
facturer, who wished to make sure that there 
w T as enough explosive force to lift this human 
projectile. There was* 

At last, after hours of waiting, the critical 
moment eame — it was a raw day in March- 
and a great crowd gathered along the Newark 
plank road near the canal thrilled as the 
Italian lighted a twenty-foot fuse, whHt* 
Rodman Law, at the peak of the rocket and 
apparently quite calm, stood ready to begin 
his aerial flight- Mrs* Law, who had just, 
kissed her husband good-bye, watched in 
terror near the foot of the scaffolding, and 
a big policeman prophesied that the rocket 
would land in Elizabeth, New Jersey, ten 

by Google 

Original from 



miles distant — he said it was aimed exactly 
in that direction. 

Meantime, J. Alexander Leggett, the 
camera-man for Pathe Fr£res, was grind- 
ing away at his motion- picture machine. 
Presently the explosion came, a shattering 
blast that flattened out heavy bill-boards 
in all directions and caused such a volume 
of smoke that it was impossible to tell 
how high the rocket went* Law himself 
was half dazed when he was dragged forth 
from the wreckage- It seems the Italian 
bad packed in so much powder that the 
restraining side timbers had been blown 
out laterally and the whole rocket had 
collapsed. The young man himself , by 
some miracle j suffered only bruises, and, 
as soon as he was rescued, proceeded fiercely 
to upbraid the firework - maker for his 

The readiness of motion-picture artists to 
risk their lives for the sake of a good film was 
illustrated a few months ago, when Earle 

the camera-man clicked on with his thrilling 
record. This occurred when a fully-equipped 
express train, a locomotive and three cars 
running at high speed and loaded with pas- 
sengers, including ihe beautiful daughter of 
the wicked president of the road, were made 
to plunge off a trestle at South River, New 
Jersey, into the lake below. 

It was a wonderful wreck. The cars stood 
on end as the timbers crumpled up beneath 
them, the locomotive dived head first into 
the depths, and exploded with a great roaring 
arid hissing and a scattering of bolts and 
iron fragments like shrapnel. Then, at 
the director's word, forty Vitagraph artists, 
replacing the dummies in the cars, threw 
themselves, fully dressed, into the cold waters 
of the lake and swam (literally) for their 

And presently the crowd that had gathered 
on the banks to witness this rather expensive 
simulation of disaster had an extra sensation, 
when Victor Smith, superintendent of the 


Williams. Rose Dtiggan, Mary Gre^n, and 
Charles Edwards, members of the Vitagraph 
Company, actually went down in the last 
desperate throes of real drowning and were 
dragged out of the water unconscious while 

Vol. I.— 26. 

by Google 

studios, and Joseph Curran. chW electrician, 
with shouts of genuine alarm, leaped to the 
rescue of several actors and actresses who had 
volunteered for this perilous work without 
being sure they were equal to it, 

Original from 

En Route. 


Illustrated ty Arthur \Villiam Brown. 

T two minutes past nine on 
that June morning twelve 
years ago two gentlemen 
stood in the train-shed of the 
old Grand Central Station 
and regarded each other with 
widely - differing emotions, 
Ik 1 1 ween them an iron gate had just I>ecn 
closed and locked. Mr. Addison Gay lord 
Br own j on the obser vat ion- plat form of the 
White Mountain Express, had at last shaken 
off the pursuit of the slender, sun-tanned 
young man just outside the gate. The train 
was due to start- In the train Miss Ruth 
Brown remained serenely unaware of this 
pursuit. Mr. Brown settled his short, stocky 

frame firmlv in one of the convenient wicker 


chairs and pulled his golf cap low over his 
keen eyes. The platform began to move. 
The incident being thus closed, he indulged 
himself in a grimly humorous smile at the 
expense of the loser. 

Dare Williams did not smile. He had 
come half-way across the continent t without 
an invitation, to attend a celebration at her 
college. His notes and flowers had been 
ignored or intercepted, from some functions 
he had been excluded, at others he had been 
Ignored or avoided. No opportunity had 
been given him to learn what had come 
between him and his one-time confidante. Had 
it been anyone else on earth, his pride would 
have ended the matter. There was an 
emotion involved, however, stronger even 
than Dare Williams's pride. He had trailed 
them up over the Pennsylvania railway to 
New York, had lost the trail and found it 
again, and now was thwarted by a locked gate, 
a mere matter of seconds. With all northern 
New England in which to search for them, 
limited both as to time and money, he was 
beaten. He saw the taunting smile, under- 
stood, as he had not understood before, that 
her father was actively opposed to him, and, 

Digitized by G< 

in the abject misery of her loss, forgot to 
resent it at all. He felt, as he saw the train 
recede down the vista of tracks and empty 
platforms, that not even Addison Gaylord 
Brown, who notoriously married for money, 
would have done this if he had fully under- 

' N Carry your hug, sir ? ? ' It was a station 
porter, Williams looked down at him, 
dazed, as he stooped for the luggage. The 
porter, glancing up, saw i hat something was 
wTong. and, straightening, asked, li Missed 
your train ? ' ? Williams nodded, 

rt Where to ? " 

" White Mountains." 

* l Quick — this way ! The nine-four ! n 
Catching up the suit-case, the porter bolted 
down along the line of the iron fence, dodged 
through a gate which was just closing, and 
landed him, bag and baggage, on the rear car 
of a train, 

" Missed the White Mountain tram/' he 
explained to the guard as the train moved. 
" It's a ten to one shot, but it's a chance/' 

Ci Better r n that/' said the guard, and 
hauled the passenger to safety as the station 
porter quickened his pace to keep alongside. 
u Thev're due at New Haven nine minutes 
ahead of us, but sometimes w T hen they're 
loaded extra heavy, w T e get there first. Such 
times you can just drop off and wait for 'em 
to come along. Of course, you have to take 
a chance on it, but it isn't a bad gamble." 
The porter ignored a proffered coin, and 
dropped off with a frank smile and a genial, 
" Better luck next time, sir ! " 

Tlw spontaneous friendliness touched 
Williams the more that it was in such vivid 
contrast with his experiences of the last few 
days, Moreover, it had replaced defeat w-th 
a fighting chance. He picked up his suit-case 
and went inside to find a seat, and presently 
the guard joined him with a time-table and 
more information. 

Original from 




'" This is the Boston Express, you see. 
Ill at White Mountain train pulls out just two 
minutes ahead of us, and we pass Ym at 125th 
Street— they stop, and we don't— and then 
its nip an* tuck on parallel tracks all the way 
to New Haven. It's four track all the way; 
you know, so each train has one clear. Our 
three regular stops are their flags , and when 
they have to stop, too, it makes a pretty 
even thing of it. We used to get held up at 
New Haven every other day by their being 
late, but now the first one to get the block 
nut side of New Haven goes in ahead, and lias 
the right-of-way over the double-track tine 
trom there to Springfield, If they can't 
keep within nine minutes of schedule, we 
take the line ahead of them, and they have to 
hold back for us/ ] 

The aching alternation of light and smoky 
darkness in the tunnel at length gave place 
to steadily-brightening daylight, and as the 
train climbed out of the open cut and the 
windows began to go up. the two stepped 
to the rear door. As they whipped across 
125th Street, sure enough, there was the 
White Mountain train standing at the plat- 
form, unmistakable by reason of two Boston 
and Maine day-coaches. The engine hissed 
by T receded, and could just be seen to be 
getting under way as it was lost to view. 
The race was on. 

The guard went to turn out the lights in 
the car, and then, for a few minutes, they 
stood in the rear door and watched the blur 
of road-bed shoot back, resolve itself into 
cross- ties and rock ballast for an instant, and 
then drop into distance. They were on the 
outside track of the four, and occasionally a 
signal-post would flash by, one arm rising to 
*' danger ** behind them, and the other giving 
a clear track to the engineer of the White 
Mountain Express, When a long stretch of 
straight track had lined itself out behind, they 
would strain their eyes to catch a glimpse of 
the train following, and, as the inevitable 
curve shut out the view at last, they would 
crane their necks to keep the far-away point 
in sight as long as possible. Then would 
come a letting down of the tension, a con- 
sulting of watches, and a little chatting about 
the probable length of their lead. When the 
straight track had lengthened out iri** two 
or three mites, they began again to watch, 
until, finally, just as the car struck a curve, 
the great locomotive of the pursuer shot into 
view far behind, swung head on, and was 
blotted out as its last cars were just disap- 
pearing in its wake, 

" Here she comes I ' 4 

by Google 

" Get the time, and let's see how much 
we Ye ahead, somebody," 

" What's the excitement ali about ? " The 
passengers were beginning to wake up to 
what was going on and were getting interested. 
The guard explained, and then all grew 
and watched. One minute was gone, two 
minutes, two minutes and thirty seconds, 
thirty-five, forty, forty-five seconds, and 
then : — 

" There she is again ! Hurrah ! Look at 
her come ! " 

' How much do you make it ? n 

li Two minutes and three-quarters must 
moan about three miles, doesn't it ? " 

4( Only about two and a half at the rate 
we're going/* replied the guard* " This is 
about a fifty-mile-an-hour clip we're doing 
now, I think ; we average forty, including 

The next time they caught sight of the 
other train it had crept up fully half a mile 
on them by the watches. As they stood 
there, crowding the rear platform* time- 
pieces in hand, it became evident that the 
heavier train was rapidly cutting down their 
lead. At every curve the pursuer showed a 
gain, and it almost seemed as though the 
greater weight was an advantage when once 
the train was under way. Minute by minute 
the distance grew less until the two miles 
were cut down to one, and that, in turn, was 
reduced to a fraction of itself- Hardly would 
the other train be lost sight of around a curve 
when, suddenly, the big boiler would sweep 
into view again, and come rushing after on 
the second track. Cupped with its plume of 
smoke, vibrating with power and sparkling 
in the sun, it was an awe-inspiring sight, and 
as it crept up on them, looming higher and 
higher in air, all talking ceased on the rear 

Then the great machine, with its flying 
wheels and roaring exhaust, lay pitching less 
than a car's length behind, its driver bent 
forward, straining to catch some glimpse of 
the flying track and signals through the 
volley of dust and cinders from the train in 
front. The group on the rear steps of the 
Boston Express all at once realized that they 
were being overhauled, and cheered and 
laughed, and dared the Wiiite Mountain 
driver to pass them if he could — all save one, 
Williams clung to the liand-ra.l and watched 
in anxious silence. 

As the mammoth engine crept slowly, inch 
by inch nearer, overlapped the pIatform ? and 
still m jved up until one could have reached 
out and touched the spinning six-foot drivers 

Original from 





by Google 

Original from 



or shaken hands with the fireman, swinging 
steadily between fire-door and coal, the whole 
world swept hack in a riotous avalanche of 
dust and sound and flying houses, bridges, 
track, and forest- The tender jolted past, 
and then, as the luggage- van crept slowly by, 
the cinders danced on its roof and eddied 
down into their [aces, In its turn came a 
combination luggage and smoker, and as the 
smoker crept up to the crowded rear platform 
racing beside it, the occupants with one 
accord dropped their newspapers and cards 
and crowded to the windows. 

" What train is that ? " " Hurry up 
there ! you're getting left ! " gi We'll tell 
'em we saw you/' came faintly across, above 
the roar of the trains, Down the line of the 
White Mountain Express the attendants were 
on the steps of the cars, the vestibules open, 
and, as the five day -coaches passed slowly in 
review, window by window, car by car, 
steadily, inevitably, the young man watched 
in vain for a familiar face. With the appear- 
ance of the first car he hud realized that he 
was to have the privilege of seeing Ruth 
Brown again, of looking her square! v in the 
face at close range, and that, wedged into the 
crowd on the platform as he was, he would 
be obliged also to see. and be seen by, her 
father. They were not in the day-coaches ; 
so he scanned the windows of the Pullmans 
with added expectancy. 

The first and second of the Pullmans passed 
slowly and uneventfully by, then the third ; 
and so they reached the rear ear, and the 
two trains ran side by side. Up ahead, the 
driver of the White Mountain Express was 
forcing the locomotive of his eleven-car train 
past the locomotive of the ten-car Boston 
Express, himself already abreast its boiler as 
those on the rear platform crept down his 
last Pullman, and for the first time the Boston 
driver realized that he was being distanced, 
that the coveted right-of-way might be in 
danger. The White Mountain engine was 
doing its very utmost, had been doing its 
best for halt an hour ; but the other still had 
a little in reserve, and so it happened that 
just as Williams found himself looking into 
the surprised eyes of the girl of his choice, the 
Boston Express gradually increased its speed, 
and the two trains became relatively station- 
ary, with her window hardly three feet from 
his face. 

She sat very quietly, looking at him 
intently — a little wistfully, he thought- 
quest ioningly, as though she would ask, 
** Why are you here ? " The double windows 
of the Pullman and the din of the trains made 




speech hopelessly impossible, but it seemed 
to him that he must cry out and answer her 
question, tell her that it was by no mere 
chance that he was there, tell her why, with 
all its inevitableness, he had come. He knew 
that he might never see her again, that in a 
moment she might slip from him, never to be 

Perhaps the strangely familiar sight of her 
reminded him — perhaps the urgent need of it 
— of an incident of the old days, They had 
lived within less than a block of each olhcr 
on opposite sides of the avenue, and her 
window had been in sight from his own. 
Once when she had been quarantined after 
an illness he had watched for her with his 
telescope, and when she hud come to her 
window, had attracted her attention. She, 
too, had obtained a glass, and they had spent 
many happy hours spelling out messages by 
means of the deaf-and-dumb alphabet, 
them with the aid of their telescopes* It had 
been slow, but it had served them once, and 
it might again. Looping an arm through 
the hand-rail to steady himself , and trying 
not to attract the attention of those about 
him, he began. It helped that the crowd on 
the rear platform was thinning, 

4t I missed your train, so took this slower 
one/' he spelled, " I have something to say 
to you/' 

Her eyes lingered on his hands for an 
instant after he had finished, then came 
swift J y to his own. Warm colour had come 
to her face. There was a light in her eyes ; 
she leaned tow r ards him. Her hands fluttered 
together as though to reply, and then she 
drew hack, and only looked at him searchingly, 

" Where can I find you ? *' he begged. 
" Please, Ruth, dear ! " 

She frowned, bit her lip, paled, shook her 
head, and raised her eyes unwillingly to his 
own, and he saw that her eyes were bright 
again, and just then the Boston train began 
to pull ahead. Before she could answer, she 
had drifted back and back, and w p as gone, 

The car lengthened out window by window, 
and as the open vestibule came past, an 
insane impulse seized him to try to swing 
himself across. Even as the thought entered 
his mind t the trains leaped apart on a curve, 
a gulf of death yawned between, and he found 
himself clinging weakly to his hand-rail. 
He looked up and saw her looking at h'm as 
from a great height, with terror in her eyes- 
When the trains came together again, he was 
half-way down the second ear, and she was 

When it became evident that the Boston 

Original from 





by Google 

Original from 



train was again taking the lead, the crowd 
stampeded back, and Williams found himself 
caught on the platform and obliged to witness 
the reverse of the former review, The White 
Mountain train lost ground rapidly as the 
lighter train increased its speed, until at last 
they read the number 011 the front of the big 
boiler. When it was a mile in the rear it 
seemed quite out of the race. At Stamford 
the Boston train was just starting as the other 
came in. It seemed too had not to improve 
the opportunity of crossing to the White 
Mountain train, but the guard dissuaded him. 

" You m : ght not be able to get over to 
that track in time, or you might not be able 
to get on if you did get there, and you never 
know sure that they'll stop. You 7 d feel sick 
to see this train out of sight and then have 
them go humming through." 

At South Nor walk he went out on the rear 
platform and watched again. On they came, 
and when the eng'ne was about two hundred 
yards away, he suddenly realized that this 
time they were not going to stop. The last 
hundred feet was covered almost in the tick 
of a watch, and, with a crash and a roar, a 
leapng succession of car bodies, and a 
blind. ng, chok : ng swirl of dust, the White 
Mountain Express took the lead. Leaning 
out beyond the side of the train, he saw its 
observation end disappear around the next 
curve- His own train was already getting 
under way, but with exasperating slowness. 

Dare Williams went into the car and sat 
down. The rear platform had suddenly 
become the most boresomely uninteresting 
place in the world ; the clear sunlight and 
the sharp blue of the sky were bleak. To 
lose had been hard. He had met with 
nothing but defeat until this morning, but so 
nearly to win and then to lose seemed worse. 
He had littie hope that the other train could 
be beaten now, and he knew Ruth Brown too 
well to imagine that she would aid him unduly 
in his pursuit. He did not feel sure that she 
would aid him at all. He had no way of 
knowing how much or how little her looks 
might have meant, Still less could he know 
what reaction of feeling jnight since have 
come. Driven by his uneasiness, he presently 
left the rear car and went forward to the 
front of the smoker. 

The White Mountain Express won the race 
to Bridgeport. Track elevation work was in 
progress there, and as his train crept in over 
the single rough, temporary track, Williams 
several times caught glimpses of the crowded 
observation -plat form of the other train just 
ahead. It paused at the station while they 

by Google 

waited outside, and then moved on to make 
place for them. As they were pulling out in 
their turn, a district messenger came through, 
calling Williams's name. He paid the boy 
and took the letter, addressed to him in her 
hand and written on the stationery of the 


en route 

Dear Mr. Williams, — If necessary, this train will 

be delayed so that yon may react 1 New Haven first. 

I shall be glad to hear what you have to say We 

go through on this car to Bretton Woods. Sincerely, 

R. B. 

Williams read this note four times. It did 
not strike him as a cold or a formal missive. 
It gave him everything that he had asked. 
He read far more between the lines than he 
would have eared to have had her put in 
words. It left him a little overwhelmed. 
When he started to read it the fifth time he 
suddenly grasped the import of her first 
sentence : "If necessary, this train will he 
delayed/' How ? Money would not hold a 
crack train back ten minutes, he felt sure- 
He suddenly saw his air-castles in ru'ns 
again ; she simply could not do it* Slouching 
his hat over his eyes, he went out on the front 
platform and peered out from behind the 
sheltering corner of the baggage-car. 

The obser vat ion -plat form of the lead ng 
train flew on and on, effortless, not fifty feet 
before him. Slowly it was conquered , crept 
past him yet more slowly, and Mr. Addison 
Gaylord Hrown, at his ease, looked at the 
man on the open platform beside h.m, tossed 
this way and that, buffeted by fierce gusts, 
smothered by dust and cinders, and del not 
recognize him. His daughter, who had not 
left the writing-desk since ntrusting her note 
to the porter, smiled instant recognition. 
When she drifted beyond him, Williams 
entered the car and strolled back down the 
train, keeping always opposite her. 

The conditions below Stamford were, 
however, now exactly reversed. The White 
Mountain driver, looking back, saw that he 
was threatened, and dropped his lever another 
notch, The driver of the Boston Express had 
already done bis utmost, and could not answer 
t he spurt . Wi 11 1 a m s sa w he r wi n do w h e si t a t e , 
cease to fall behind, begin to drift the other 
way. At a run he reached the next platform 
ahead, and, as she came past, answered her 
look of inquiry with a shake of the head. It 
way the signal she awaited. With a sober 
little nod she rose briskly from her chair, 
looked quickly about the empty car, gathered 
her skirts daintily, and stepped, liky the lady 
that she was, upon the chair, grasped the 





r^rtrtrtlr- Original from 





emergency-brake cord with one small hand, 
and pulled. 

Her window paused decisively in its 
advance ; again drifted toward him ; hurried 
by, with a glimpse of her flung in a heap on 
the writing-desk ; the next vestibule leaped 
past ; and then, windows, vestibules, cars, 
and engine , the White Mountain Express 
volleyed itself towards the rear like an 
avalanche. With a grinding of brakes and 
a whistling of air it lull from them, and, half 
a mile ahead, the signal outside New Haven 
opened the way for the slower Boston train* 
The miracle had been done. 

Six minutes later Williams hurried down 
the New liaven platform to meet the incoming 
White Mountain Express, almost unnerved 
by conflicting hopes and fears. He had 
hoped tor this hour so long, so vainly, and 
now it was upon him, not to be put away. 
If he spoke the right word t made no misstep, 
heaven might open before him. If he maae 
a mistake, he knew that it would be the end. 

The great engine rolled down the platform 
with ponderous .swing of massive connecting- 
rods and slow dang, dang of bell. The ojH'n 
luggage-doors passed swiftly by, men waiting 
m them ready for the stop ; vestibules passed 
with their freight of waiting passengers ; and 
as the last cars approached, the spurting fire 
from the wheels grew sharper, and the train 
came heavily to rest. 

Williams stood in the crowd about the 
steps of the two rear cars as the incoming 
passengers disembarked. The pounding of 
his heart suffocated him. His throat was 
dry. He did not know what he should say, 
what he could do. He was no ladies' man, 
he was not even a " gentleman ?1 any more 
is the that he w;:s familiar with the 
ways of the rich and socially secure. He 
was only just an honest man in love. What 
chance had he ? 

The last arriving passenger was off ; those 
on the station platform began to climb the 
steps of the Pullman, His turn was coming. 

Someone touched his arm ; he turned, and 
looked straight into the eyes of the girl 
he sought; the cool, clear, level eyes which 
always saw straight to his souL In the 
instant he knew that he had no right to 
Sjjeak, yet that he must speak, 

14 Ruth 7 " he said, and it was to the girl of 
the other years, straight across as though 
nothing had since been; " Ruth. I haven't 
made my fortune, but — if you tan wait — I 
can't forget ! " 

Suddenlv her eves shone with a wonderful 
tight, and her hand touched hii arm again, 
and was gone. 

" I thought I had. Dare— but I haven't." 

Dare Williams came back to earth, and he 
stood on a railway platform, his suit-case 
still in his hand, with the steps of a Pullman 
before him* Ruth was by his side, was to 
remain at his side while he lived. Reality 
was to take on the colour of dreams. He was 
happy, and he was terribly afraid— afraid 
that, after all. this could not be ; afraid that 
he might not 1h> a man wise und strong 
enough for the rale he had undertaken. 

il Dare Williams, isn't it ? " Her father 
gripped his hand as he ciimbed aboard, and, 
looking up into the keen eyes, he saw that 
they were not unfriendly. The father had 
seen. His daughter had chosen, and, like 
many parents before him, he had quietly put 
away his own plans and hopes for her and 
pledged himself to do all in his power to ensure 
the success of her plan. If Dare Williams it 
was to ht\ Dare Williams he would back to 
the last ditch, fighting for him as whole- 
heartedly as he had fought against him. Dare 
saw it. realized vaguely that this man was 
not defeated, but had changed sides, and felt 
a strange moving of the heart towards him. 
Unselfish as he knew his own love for Ruth to 
he, he realized that her fathers love for her 
was even more unselfish, and in his success he 
was humbled, and in such humbleness he 
began to perceive the possibilities of the way 
upon which he had entered. 


On page 222 will be found our Confession-Book, which this month has been submitted 
to lady artist*, who have supplied answers in pictures to the six questions proposed. 

It has occurred to us that our lady readers might like to contribute to this section, and 
we shall be pleased to receive from any of them a page similar to those given. 

Male readers may do the same by replying to the following six questions, to which 
answers have already been supplied by well-known artists in our* two previous numbers *, 
(1) What is your ideal of a pretty giri ? (2) Your ideal of a well-dressed woman ? (3) What 
is the easiest animal to draw ? (4) Who is the easiest man to caricature ? (5) An optimist 
and a pessimist? (6) Your pet aversion? Payment will be made for contributions 

Details if another "By Our Reader*' 1 invitation will be f otj p-d on jp age. 238. 

VdI l^t! :)y VTl h 




STAR puzzles have of late been creating some 
interest in the United States, and this fact suggcsis 
to me that readers may be entertained by an old one 
to which I will give a new 
** twist " It is a six-pointed 
star, in which the numbers I 
to 12 art to be placed so 
that every line of four adds 
up 26. In the example 
given it will be noticed 
that the six numbers at the 
points of the star add up 
30, and there is only one 
other way in which (his 
may occur (exchange 4 with 
6, 7 with y, 1 with 3, and 
12 with 10, and you will 
get the second arrangement), Now, the puzzle is to 
rearrange the numbers so that the six points, as well 
as every line of four, shall add up 2K There are 
very few ways of doing it. Perlia^ the reader can 
find them all, 

TAKE eight dominoes from an ordinary box and so 

arrange l hem in a square that every column* row, and 
line parallel with the 
diagonals shall contain an 
even number of pips. The 
example I give fulfils this 
condition, as in all the 
directions the pips add up 
to an even number. Trie 
a rrows wil ! make cl ear w ha t 
I mean by the diagonal 
directions. It will be found 
that there are 38 pips in 
all in the square* The 
puzzle is to comply with 

the conditions while using as few pips us possible. 

Kern em her that there nnut bean even number of pips 

in every direction and that o is not a number. 

* m • m f 

* 9 
^ JJ * 

« m • » 5 

* * * * • 

1 ■ V TT '* 

An officer in the Roy-l Engineers, writing to me 
from u somewhere in France," say? : " While on 
service in France I have come across a quaint inn 
sum, as betnw, which I think you may consider worthy 
of a place among vour l Perplexities* ,J : — 
20 , too o 
As the letter h stamped " Passed by Censor,*' it is 
clear that the official was satisfied as to the innocent 
nature of the cryptogram* Would the sign have 
puzzled you ? 

I have before ri»e ft specimen 
of every current British coin from 
a farthing up to a sovereign. 
And 1 have a sheet of paper 
with a circular hole cut in it 
of exactly the size of the circle 
shown, What is the largest coin 
I can pass through that hole with- 
out tearing the paper ? 

Solutions to Last Month* § Puzzl 


2S 6 + — THE 37 PUZZLE GAME. 
The first player (A) can always win, but he must 
lead with 4. The winning scores to secure during 
the play are 4, n f 17, 24, 30, 37. In the first game 
below the econd player (B) puts off defeat as long 
as possible. In the second game he prevents A 
scoring 17 or 30, but has to give him 24 and 37. In 
the third game he prevents A scoring 11 or 24, but 
has to give him 17, 30, and 37, Notice the important 
play of the 3 and the 5. 




('?> 5 


(34) 1 

(30) 4 

<a) Or A 
prevent A scoring ji or 17 next move, (f) Again to 
prevent A immediately scoring 24. (rl) Preventing A 
scoring 17, but Riving him 24, (f) Preventing A 
scoring 30, but giving him the 37. (/) Thus A can 
always score 24 (as in the last game) or 30 (as in this), 
either of which commands the winning 37. 

B A 


A B 

I (<7) 4 

* (*) 3 

1 {i 1) 2 
r U) 5 

2 (*4> 4 
2 5 
1 (37) 4 




4 1 
3 4 
(17) 5 

3 4 

3 * 

11 score ii ne*t 


{h) B could not 


Tite illustration explains 


Prelate — Relate— 
Elate— Late— Ate. 


The sentence, when 
Completed) reads as follows ■ " The Germans' ohiftt 
was undoubtedly to capture Warsaw, but those who 
had closely followed the war saw that Russia might 
quite reasonably obitct to this plan.*' 


Call the children A, B* C, D, E. in order of their 
weights* A being the lightest and E the heaviest. It 
is clear that A and B (the lightest) together weijrh 
M4lb. f and D and E (the heaviest) 1291b., and thes* 
four weigh 2431b,, which, deducled from the weight 
of all five, 3031b., gives us the weight of C — ooib. (To 
obtain the 3031b,, add all the pairs together and divide 
by 4, since every child was weighed four times*) 
The lightest and next lightest but one weighed 11 5th,, 
that is A and C, so if we deduct the 6olb. we have 
also the weight of A— 55ft, The rest is now quite 
easy, and the children weighed respectively 551b-, 
^olb,, oolb., 631b,, and tf61b. 

by Google 

Original from 


viiL— Sanctuary. 


Uluatrated by Charles Pears. 

HAT surprised me about war 
was that you seldom seemed 
to know what was going on. 
If you were a private soldier 
you might have been in the 
Battle of Waterloo without 
knowing it for goodness only 
knows how long afterwards. I w T as in the 
Battle of Battery Hill without being aware 
of it till afterwards, when I came upon an old 
newspaper with the headline, " Battle of 
Battery Hill — Twelfth Day." It was only 
when I began to read that I realized I was 
reading about the fight on the slope of which I 
had had rather more than I quite cared for. 
I had never guessed it was a regular battle — 
and doubt if any of us chaps in the ranks did. 
After Or mi st on had blown up that battery 
on the very first night of its exist ence, the 
Germans never stopped trying to get it back 
again. I don't mean the battery itself ; that 
couldn't be done, since there was nothing of 
it left, but the ground on which it had stood. 
They never gave us any pea ce, day and night* 
Most of our time was spent in a series of 
trenches which had been dug^ amongst a lot 
of bushes which were so tall as almost to 
reach to the dignity of trees. The Germans 
seemed to pass their time in finding out just 
where we were. When they had located us 
— 01 thought they had — they began to pepper 
us with shells, or shrapnel, or stuff of that sort. 
We could do nothing in return, having nothing 
with which to reply. At the back of the 
trench in which I spent most of my time the 
ground was dug away so as to form a shelter 
which was practically bomb-proof; hut I give 
you my word that it is not pleasant to be in 
such a place for hour after hour, or pernaps 
day after day, hoping that none of the would- 


be visitors would intrude themselves too 

But I don't think for a single hour was the 
fighting really stopped. The chap who put 
our trench where it was knew what he was 
up to. We did hear that the guns which were 
attacking us were five or six miles off, some 
of them more j even at that distance they 
kept us on the jump. There came a time 
when they did a good deal more. It is queer 
to me how f in a position like that, one side 
finds out what the other is about to be up to \ 
long before anything happened our head- 
quarters people gave us warning that some- 
thing very special was in the air. 

The morning was dull ; quite early heavy 
banks of cloud came rolling up ; before noon 
rain was falling smartly. We had had a spell 
of drought — that part of the country runs 
soon to dust — so that ordinarily rain would 
have been welcome ; but as it happened, that 
was just an occasion on which it suited them 
and not us. Captain Baring gave us a tip about 
what had come over the "phone— he was one 
of those level-headed chaps who take it for 
granted that Tommy Atkins would do better 
if he had some idea of what he was up against. 

" We're in for some fun/ 7 he said. M So 
far as I can make out, all Germany is on the 
war-path. They mean to out us before the 
sun goes down — or, from the look of things, 
before it even gets up, I don't know what 
they're up to, but according to the messages 
which have been sent it is something very 
special indeed, ?> 

We did not find out directly — indeed, it 
was not for some time that we really got on 
to their devilry ; but hardly had the captain 
stopped talking when we got a hint. The 
guns whose business it was to pay us special 




attention had been taking a rest, Suddenly 
they began again ; shells came showering 
down all round us. They did not quite get 
our range, but they were sufficiently close to 
drive us to cover. 

A chap named Clark happened to be stand- 
ing next to me, lie had not teen with us 
long — it seemed as if every week or so a whole 
lot of us were wiped out ; it was a wonder 
how I hung on, without a scratch* Clark 
was an undersized chap like me ? as keen as a 
razor— there I hope he was also like me. 
After firing had recommenced a few seconds 
a sort of general sniffing began, Clark turned 
towards me. 

t£ Something seems to be smelling very 
queer. Sergeant ; what's happened ? " 

That was our first introduction to the new 
German way of making war — by poisoned gas, 
One of the shells which had fallen and exploded 
somewhere near us was filling the air, not 
with the ordinary contents of a shell, but 
with an atmosphere which no man could 
breathe. How many had been destined lor 
us we bad no means of knowing but so far we 
were conscious of only one having reached its 
destination. Presently, when another fol- 
lowed, we had to get as far as we could under 
ground, so as to enable the fumes to escape by 
ways of their own. 

So far as we were concerned, the first 
German experiment was not an entire success, 
though the conditions could scarcely have 
been more in their favour. Rain was just 
what they wanted ; the horrible poison might 
be counted on to do its worst in wet weather — 
but their marksmanship must have been 
had. So fur as we could judge, only three or 
four of their little pots of perfume burst 
within smelling distance ; and, as luck would 
have it. one of them came just as they were 
making a frontal attack. We were as much 
surprised as they were. Before we had the 
slightest warning of what was about to hap- 
I>en we saw their uniforms glancing among 
the foliage of a copse upon our left* A con- 
sultation was taking place as to whether 
information had not better be invited from 
headquarters on what might be the cause of 
the extraordinary smell which filled the air 
when the first glimpse of the attack which 
was coming was seen. 

That first attack of theirs was an entire 
failure. My impression is that they took it 
for granted that their precious poison would 
have put in some of its deadly work. They 
quite possibly had expected to find us 
stretched out gasp ng for life— it was they 
who had to do the gasping, There was some 

by Google 

misunderstanding somewhere. No doubt 
arrangements had been made that firing 
should cease when it didnt. We had, of 
course, no actual proof, but judging from 
appearances a shell must have reached the 
copse about the same time as they did, 
exploding much closer to them than the other 
two had done to us, They had no under- 
ground gallery. We saw them suddenly begin 
to reel before our eyes. While they were 
staggering about Captain Baring gave us the 
word to let them have it — and we did ! 

It was rather a long shot, and the copse 
gave them some excellent cover, but still we 
managed to do more mischief w T ith our lead 
than they had done with their poison, All 
the same, as I always found was the case 
where the German soldier was concerned, 
they were equal to the occasion. Though 
plainly struggling with difficulty, and looking 
for a moment as if they would collapse before 
our eyes, with an effort which was obvious 
e\ F en to us they pulled themselves together, 
retiring in something like order until, vanish- 
ing among the brushwood, they presently 
reappeared upon our right, to favour us with 
the contents of their rifles. If, however, 
their intention was of serious assault, the 
result was an ignominious failure. Not a 
man among us was damaged. Plainly their 
own infernal atmosphere was more than they 
could stand. What conclusion they arrived 
at we could not say + but Without even 
attempting a second shot they vanished out 
of sight. 

Not only so j they continued out of sight. 
Had ihey-put their heads together and 
arranged the best way of giving us the most 
discomfort possible they could hardly have 
succeeded better. All day long we waited in 
a state of continual fidget for their immediate 
return. AU day it rained ; all day the firing 
continued, without any injury worth speaking 
of to us. The autumn evening approached 
without there having been any perceptible 
interval between the falling shells, Had 
their bad marksmanship been intentional 
they could hardly have succeeded in hurting 
us less. But if w T e had counted on finishing 
the day as well off as we were when we began 
it we reckoned without the methods of our 
German friends. For the first time the rain 
was showing signs of stopping : the shadows 
were deepening. We did not know what the 
time was. but I do know wc had to keep our 
eyes very wide open to make reasonably sure 
that there was nothing amid the surrounding 
trees. The hail of shells had lessened ; we 
were beginning to wonder if they had ceased 

Original from 



for the night, when without an instant's 
warning our nostrils were saluted by the fumes 
with which we were already unpleasantly 
acquainted. Just as we were hoping that we 
were safe from them, another poison bomb 
had fallen in our immediate neighbourhood. 
It was impossible to tell where the visitor 
alighted ; it was only possible for us to know 
that it must be uncomfortably close at hand. 
It is not easy to describe the effect produced 
by those emissaries of the devil. I can only 
say that all at once it began to grow in- 
creasingly unpleasant to breathe. Some 
penetrating powder might have been thrown 
into the air. One's eyes began to irritate, 
one's head to reel. Breathing was difficult ; 
when you did succeed in getting a long breath 
the result was painful. 

We cowered as low down in our trench as 
we could, but without avaiL That time the 
diabolical missile had burst too near for us to 
escape. Captain Baring gave an order which 
it was not easy to follow — speaking had 
become increasingly difficult. 

" You chaps had better get out of this while 
it is possible, and make for the ' Sergeant/ ' 

The " Sergeant " was a trench which, in a 
laughing moment, they had nicknamed after 
me t I, as luck would have it, having been the 
first to discover its existence. The trench 
we were in at the moment was one of the 
newest type* with all the latest improvements. 
The " Sergeant ^ was simply a cutting in the 
ground rather over five feet deep, in which 
one could find partial shelter from unwelcome 
fire. It was away from the trees, practically 
out in the open, probably half a mile from 
where we were. On more than one occasion, 
for various reasons, we had left our present 
address to try the hospitality of the 
i( Sergeant." As Captain Baring put it T we 
should have to be quick if we wished to try it 
again $ it was becoming momentarily less and 
less possible to move or breathe. 

I fancy I was in a position in which I was 
more accessible to the fumes which were 
poisoning the air ; or perhaps I was more 
easily affected by those which reached me. I 
was conscious of bringing up the tail 01 a lot 
of men who reeled out of the trench in what 
seemed to be the last stage of drunkenness. 
When I got on to the solid ground without 
things grew worse instead of better — I was 
totally unable to stand. Something was 
pressing on my chest with a force which made 
me feel as if my whole body was about to 
burst. 1 was vaguely conscious that my 
companions had gone staggering off into the 
gathering shadows, swaying from side to side, 

hardly conscious of w T here they were going, 
unaware that at least one of their number 
Had been left behind. 

Striving with all my might to remain up- 
right, my feet had taken me, willy-nilly, off 
the beaten path, luck only knew where, and 
then had deposited me in a little clump of 
brushwood which had served as a trap for my 
erring steps. How long I lay there I cannot 
Say ; possibly the mischance had been my 
salvation. A breeze had sprung up which 
bore the fumes away from me, I must have 
remained unnoticed for hours. The next 
thing which struck me was the toe of some- 
body's boot, which came into such violent 
contact with my frame that it recalled me to 
sudden consciousness. The sound of an un- 
known tongue greeted my ears ; an un- 
welcome something assailed my ribs ; the 
point of a bayonet was pushed against my 
body ; strange words and phrases addressed 
me again. Then a rough, unfriendly, foreign 
voice spoke to me in English, in tones which 
could hardly have suggested more unpleasant 

th You are a prisoner ! Get up, before I 
stick my bayonet right through you.' J 

It was easy lo bid me iict up. and to cap his 
injunction with a threat, hut: the thing was 
not so easy to do. 1 made three or four 
efforts to obey before, with the aid of a huge, 
rough, helping hand, I was able to get on to my 
own feet. Then t so soon as the hand began 
to be withdrawn, I showed such signs of 
being unable to stand that the stranger's 
grip tightened so suddenly that it cut into 
the muscles of my arm. I had to bite my 
lips to keep from audible exclamation. 

ki Gently ! ** I substituted for the stronger 
language which hud lacn trembling on my 
lips. l You will break my arm if you arc not 
careful. What is it you want to do with me? " 

" You little English worm, what is the 
matter with you ? Why do you not hold 
yourself up ? " 

l£ That is more than I can tell you ; some- 
thing seems to have happened to my ankle, 
though I can't say what. Who are you ? TT 

" Who I am does not matter. What does 
matter is who you are. Where are your 
associates ? *' 

This was a gentleman who could speak 
English almost as fluently as if it were his 
own tongue. His accent might not be par- 
ticularly good, but there was no misunder- 
standing what he said. I wished I had 
spoken German only a tenth part as well. I 
was in the hands of the Philistines, Disaster, 
which I congratulated myself upon having 




escaped so long, had me by the throat at 

What had happened since I had last been 
conscious I could not telh The growing 
morning light was just beginning to brighten 
the world. I was one among many, an 
object of interest to a number of gallant 
soldiers. An officer came towards me, one of 
those tall, smart, well-uniformed young 

gentlemen which the German army seems to 
turn out in endless numbers. His English 
was e%^en better than his subordinate's. Had 
I been a reptile beneath his feet his manner 
could hardly have been morj contemptuous, 

" What do you want here ? Are you a 
deserter ? " 

The suggestion stung me, half stupid though 
I still was. 



; \t'. ••- '. O :■* 



/ i > . : v- 


Original from 


















" It is be- 
cause of your 
way of making 
war if I am ! 
The poison 
which you send 
at us through 
the air has 
robbed me of 
my senses. No 
German would 
have got the 
better of me 
by fighting fair, 
but when it 
it seems that I 
am beaten," 

I am sure 
that that i n 
effect ivas what 
I said to the 
which shows 
that I must 
have been still 
wool- gather- 
ing* He looked 
at me, then he 
st ruck m e 
across the face 
with something 
which lie 
carried in his 
hand. I was 
so little master 
of myself that 
I would have 
struck him 
back again had 
it not been for 
the man who 
still held me by 
the arm. He 
gave my elbow 
a twist which 
seemed almost 
to tear the limb 
from its socket. 
While I did my 
best to hide all 
signs of the 
pain which the 
fellow caused 
me, the officer 
seemed to be 
taking my 

%i I have a 



mind to shoot you, and so finish ; you 
are one of those little English pigs who 
take advantage of their smallness to be inso- 
lent/ 3 lie addressed the soldier by a name 
which I did not catch, £k Take him down 
below. Shoot him if he gi%es you the 
slightest trouble/' 

He added something in German which was 
]>eyond me altogether. Two men closed up 
to the first. The officer issued an order. 
The main body swung off to the right towards 
what I judged to be the trench which we had 
vacated overnight, Each oi the two new- 
comers took me by an arm ; half dragging, 
half carrying me away to the copse down the 
hill upon the left. 

I had escaped many mischances, only to 
find ? after all, that the worst thing had hap- 
pened to me which could have done — I was a 
prisoner in the hands of the Germans. 

My share of the journey down the hill was 
not pleasant. What had happened to my 
ankles I did not know ; both were useless for 
purposes of support. My ri^ht foot 1 could 
not pu to the ground without longing 
to yell. You would have thought that the 
hardest-hearted raptor would have shown 
some realization of how matters stood. Not 
so mine. They bumped and swum* me alon^ 
as if my unmistEikablc ajrony was most 
amusing, I was small ; they were big ; 
they could hardly have found it very difficult 
to get me along. At length, more merciful 
than usual, they let me fall into a pa^ n 
of herbage which kept mr from coming 
into actual contact with the painfully 
hard earth. Where I had fallen I lay; 
every nerve in my body was screaming 
with agony. The two plumped down beside 
me; the third, after a brief conversation, 
joined his friends ; the three of them pro- 
duced food* What the hour was I had no 
means of knowing ; they were plainly of the 
opinion that it was breakfast time, In spite 
of the pain I was enduring. I became suddenly 
conscious that I was quite ready for some- 
thing to eat. The idea of such a possibility 
struck my original captor ; he held out a 
lump of some sort of sausage. 
" Are you hungry , English pig ? 3> 
His voice and manner did not suggest 
whole-hearted hospitality. I was wise enough 
not to answer. He considered my silence as 
bearing a meaning of its own, 

II So. swine , you have the manners of your 
pigsty ! When a gentleman asks you a 
question, can you not answer ? 1 asked if 
you are hungry — you say nothing. Good I 
Perhaps it is your custom not to breakfast* 




Then you shall have the pleasure of seeing 
three gentlemen eat theirs. 1 ' 

I certainly had what he called the pleasure 
of seeing those three generous souls enjoying 
what ? from their point of view, was a 
fairly good meal. Then tobacco-pouches 
were produced and three pipes lit up. While 
they smoked it required no interpreter to 
make it clear that f was the chief topic oi 
their conversation. 

Presently, leaning over where I lay, in- 
capable of novement the ruffian who had 
fuse kicked me as I lay in h:s pat ^l and then 
prodded me with the point of his bayoiet, 
made their attitude towards nne more tnan 
sufficiently clear. He asked me a question 
which was sufficiently biunt. 

iC What will you give us il we do not shoot 
you ? :} 

The inquiry, coming from such a quarter, 
was startling, Apparently the gentleman 
required to be paid not to commit murder. 1 
found it difficult to believe that he could be 
in earnest — although some very unsatis- 
factory stories were told about the manner 
in which Englishmen were treated in exactly 
such circumstances as mine. The teliow 
seemed to read what was in my mind, 

" You think you have nothing to f ar ? 
Blockhead ! We will quickly show you — 
though loo late for you to profit by your 
lesson. Why should we drag you with us 
like a sack of potatoes, when it is so ea:;y to 
be rid of you and walk at case ? How do 
you English treat us Germans ? Hot; many 
reach their prisons alive ? As if s*e did not 
1 tow ! You kill us as if killing Germans did 
nut count* How much will you give us to 
deliver you into the hands which do not w r ant 
you ? H we were To keep alive all you 
English whom we take prisoners our pri sons 
would not hold you. A plague would lay all 
the country waste/ 1 

How far the fellow spoke truth, in view of 
the stories which were heard on every side, it 
was impossible to say. Soldiers who were 
capable of carrying on war by means of poison 
were quite probably prepared lor anything. 
At any rate, there was something very un- 
pleasant about the words he used and the 
manner in which they were uttered — and I 
may add, so far as his companions were con- 
cerned, about the looks with which they were 
heard. M a matter of fact, I had only a 
few coppers about my person. Had my 
pockets been full I should have lusitated 
about handing over a hat the ruffians might 
demand, since I was convinced that the sum 
I paid would mak: no difference to them. If 

Original from 




they made up their minds to kill me. no 
amount of blood-money would stay their 
hands. Explanations would be so easy, a 
plausible story so readily concocted- Even 
If it occurred to their CO. to ask questions, 
very little would be required to satisfy him 
as to what had become of inc. 

We remained a silent four. A horrible 
something shone from the three pairs of eyes 
which looked at me, I was painfully aware 
that in the way all three rifles were held 
there was the shadow of death for me. 
Probably they had become so used to killing 
that one life more or less counted as nothing. 

"Well" — the fellow's bayonet was ad- 
vanced a foot nearer me — <4 is that all the 
answer you have to give ? Hake no mistake 
and try to play the foot. Everyone will be 
content enough to have you out of the way. 
How much will you give us to spare your life ? 
Quick — out with it ! How much money 
have you in your pocket ? * 7 

I considered for some seconds. Had I 
any sort of weapon about me I should have 
made an effort to get even with at any rate 
one of them. But as luck would have it I 
was without even so much as a penknife — 
and I could see the fellow knew it. He 
announced the fact with a chuckle which 
made me see red, 

* l So— it is like that ! You w r ou!d shoot 
us first ? But you cannot, you have nothing 
with which to shoot, not even a popgun. 
And that is your answer to my question ? I 
ask you again — how r much money have you 
in your pocket ? It is the same whether you 
tell me or not ; we can always find out after- 

At any rate, I would not give him the satis- 
faction of a reply. The trio looked at each 
other— again they looked at me. One of 
the Germam speaking pair said something to 
which his colleague responded. It perhaps had 
alt the worse sound because it was spoken in 
a tongue I did not understand. I did not 
need to have it turned into English to realise 
that my life was hanging in the balance. 
There was a momentary silence. 

w Once more," said the gentleman of the 
threats, u how much will vou give for vour 
dirty life ? " 

I do not know what possessed me- Some- 
thing in the fellow's manner stung me beyond 
bearing, On a sudden the feeling flamed up 
in me that the three of them were such dirty 
cowards— I was so helpless, the odds were so 
completely on their side. The big, hulking 
ruffian seemed so keen to sting as well as to 
kill — and afterwards to rob. A great clod 

Digitized by CiOOgle 

Vol. 1. -2a 

of earth was lying loose — I caught it up with 
my right hand and flung it in his face. I had 
luck ; the shot told. The lump of dirt, 
hitting him full on the nose, broke into pieces, 
covering him with dust and filling his eyes. 

That that w + as the end of the world for me 
I took for grunted. Not only did the dust 
get into his own eyes and all over him, but it 
did not add to the comfort of his friends. 
Exclamations burst from all three ; one in 
particular seemed momentarily to have lost 
the capacity to see* He clapped his hand up 
to his eye, an action which, considering how 
filthy his hand looked, could not have im- 
proved the clearness of his vision. The big 
maa raised his rifle. 

11 For that/' he exclaimed, * f you die ! 
You play the fool for the last time ! " 

In that he was mistaken, I have played 
the fool a great many times since ; if fortune 
continues kind, I hope to do so a few times 
more. But at the moment I certainly thought 
he was telling the truth H and that in a few 
seconds he would have had me spitted- But 
it is the unexpected which happens. I fancy 
that just for a second he hesitated whether 
to shoot or thrust— and that hesitation was 
his undoing. As it happened, before he could 
do either, as his weapon was still raised, there 
was a report. His rifle fell from his hold, his 
body seemed to collapse — he was dead. So 
close was he to me that his blood spurted on 
to my tunic. 

The thing was so unexpected, so amazing, 
that, not understanding how it could other- 
wise have happened, I was not sure that it had 
not been caused by his own or his comrades' 
weapons. The same thought occurred to the 
others, who stooped forward as if to make 
sure that they were not the victims of a 
delusion. For a second time a shot was fired 
■ — with the resi It as before. This time the 
victim, in fallings came into contact with his 
friend, who thrust him from him on to the 
ground and. rising to his feet with surprising 
agility, took to his heels with a rapidity 
which showed that, at any rate, he had not 
lost his presence of mind. So quickly did he 
move that 1 did not doubt he would get clean 
away. But the gun was quicker than the 
man. He was dashing across a little svrip of 
open gTound, another step or two would have 
taken him into cover— he might at least haw 
gained temporary shelter — when, crack ! there 
was the sharp whiz made by a military rifle 
when fired at close quarters. As if struck by 
lightning, without making a sound, the fellow 
threw out his arms and fell forward on to his 
fcee, never to move again. It was^ to speak 








■ j* 

^ ■ 




gently, u curious situation tor me to find 
myself in, Without warning, the position 
hud changed so completely that it was not 
strange that the only one of my senses left 
was the sense of wonder. A few seconds 
tie fore it was as if 1 had already frit thai for 
ni< J if* \ nwr : ii was almosi as if 1 hud 



actually tasted the bitterness of death. It is 
a fact that 1 was already wondering what 
explanation the trio would inve of what had 
become of me ; instead of which the explana- 
tion would have to come from me. 

What had happened 1 yet did not under- 
stand. Three fatal shot*s had been fired* 
Original from 



presumably by an English rifle ; whether by 
more than one was a question. So soon as 
I had realized that much I looked for some- 
thing to occur which would make matters a 
little dearer. Nothing happened ; not a 
sound was audible, I was disposed to swear 
that those three shots had been fired from 
less than a distance of a hundred yards* You 
soon get the knack of judging distances from 
which shots have been discharged when you 
get into the habit of listening to rifles being 
fired almost continuously for hours, and even 
days, together. 

As it happens, I have a curiously quick ear 
In judging of the distance from which a gun 
has been fired. You see so little of the person 
behind the gun that sometimes it is a knack 
which it is extremely useful to have. I 
mentally decided that those three shots had 
been discharged from a distance of probably 
between sixty and seventy yards. I glanced 
round ; on nil sides you could see as far as 
that. It was long since broad daylight ; the 
sun was shining brightly, What reason had 
my saviour to conceal his identity ? I could 
imagine none. 

I tried to struggle to my feet that I might 
have a better view of my surroundings — it 
was beyond my power* So callously had my 
captors handled me in the downward descent 
that the slightest movement on my part was 
agony. I did my best to gain a footing, but 
the thing was beyond my power. My feet, 
ankles, and legs refused to hold me up, With 
what I have no doubt was iin audible groan, I 
had to sink back into a struggling heap ; and 
as I struggled a voice — a feminine voice — 
exclaimed : — 

* Do not struggle* I come ! Do not hurt 
yourself by trying to do what you cannot/' 

The voice came from immediately in front 
of where I sprawled upon the earth. Look- 
ing to learn who the speaker was, I perceived 
it was a woman, who had obviously but that 
moment emerged from a little copse which 
Limited my range of vision immediately in 
front* She was at a distance, perhaps, of 
seventy or eighty yards- As she spoke she 
moved a little forward, standing very straight 
with her arms behind her, wearing nothing on 
her head, as if- she had just stepped out of her 

I should set her down as somewhere in the 
early twenties — what we soldiers had learned 
to call a Flemings of powerful build ; not so 
much tall, though well up to a woman's 
average height, but broad and strong. One 
had no doubt that as regards mere muscular 
strength she was equal to the average strong 

man. I did not, for instance, require a 
second glance to tell me that in her hands I 
should be a baby* She w r ore a dark blue 
short serge skirt, nearly half-way up to her 
knees, showing a pair of sturdy legs which 
you felt were very much in keeping with her 
form. The turned- up sleeves of her blouse, 
which was a little open at the neck, disclosed 
a pair of arms which more than matched the 
rest of her. As, in speechless amazement, I 
was wondering who she was, whence she came, 
what she was doing there, moving a few steps 
forward, taking her arms from behind her 
back, she revealed the fact that she was holding 
un Army rifle. Leaning on it with both hands 
with what was almost an air of ostentatious 
bravado, she stood and stared at me across 
the intervening space. 

Then she came perhaps half-a-dozen yards 
nearer, pointing to the bodies of the three 
Germans. She held her rifle well up in 
the air, and said, in a tone which affected 
me more than I should have cared to admit : — 

" An eye for an eye ! Why do they stay 
in my country ? Why do they not go back 
to their own ? The blood of all 1 loved is on 
their hands. I will have some of theirs in 
exchange. So long as a German remains on 
Belgian soil it is the duty of a Belgian woman 
to carry a gun — and to use it when she can,' T 

As I listened, something very curious was 
happening to me ; I was becoming conscious 
that this was a woman I had encountered 
betore. The garb w f as strange, but not only 
was the voice, with its excellent English — so 
far as I could judge about it there was not a 
trace of a foreign accent— familiar, with a 
familiarity which was bewildering, but the 
manner, the bearing, was one to which use 
had made me accustomed. 

I star d at her with startled wonder. Was 
I the victim of some trick of memory ? Mas 
I not mistaking her for someone whom she 
probably only slightly recalled ? It was 
incredible that I really should have met such 
a creature before. At the moment of my 
telling myself that it was incredible it all 
came back. The explanation was perfectly 
simple. It was not strange that about her 
voice, her bearing, her manner, there was 
something to which I had grown accustomed 
in what seemed to be an unusual fashion. 
The stalwart female who had destroyed the 
three Germans with such unerring aim — I 
believe that each of them had been shot 
straight to the heart— was a woman whom I 
had known as a waitress in a London tea- 
shop, who was k^own to regular customers 
as "The Be©^naWrd'r^t'tta "— which, I 









learnt one da v. was short for Antoinette* +i Netta ! " 

The discovery so startled me that the name She d'd not jump ; 1 should say she was 

hy which we knew her host broke from my physically inaijxiblc of doing that, but she 

lips before T knew it was coming, did what was pmbablv wilh her the same 

rv •■■ ^ k (r^ruT-ln Original from' 




thing — she made a startled movement for- 
wardj and, bending towards me, stared with 
all her might. Recognition came to her. 

" Mr. Briggs I Think of you becoming a 
soldier ! You fii*ht lor my native land ? 
What has happened which causes you to be 
here ? * 

* ( What would have happened if it had not 
been for you ? I was supposed to be a 
prisoner ; in another second those Germans 
Would have made me a dead one,'* 

iL Do you think 1 did not hear ? They did 
not speak too softly — it is not a German 
custom. 1 heard you coming down the hill \ 
I saw them enjoying their breakfast — and 
then I ran for my gun. By good fortune I 
p>t it in time — but only just. What is the 
matter with you ? Can you not walk ? " 

" It seems not. I do not quite know what 
is the matter, but it appears that it will be 
some time before I can even stand. They 
have hauled nie as if I were a log of wood 
from the top of the hill/ 1 

" You were in the fighting yesterday ? ** 

" I was in the fighting not only yesterday, 
but for many days before." 

She stood as if considering, then announced 
the conclusion at which she had arrived, 

" It is certain you cannot stay here. Quite 
close is all that is left of my home, of the 
house in which my father and grandfather 
were horn and Lived, and in which my father 
was killed because he dared to he found on 
his own property in his native land. My 
mother lives there still. She is old, but she 
is still sf ong. When I tell her of you, and of 
who you are, nothing will give her greater 
pride or pleasure than to give you the shelter 
of her roof till your feet arc well enough to 
carry you again. There is nothing she loves 
better than an English soldier. I will fetch 
her ; in half a minute she will be here." 

She turned to go ; I stayed her. 

H I doubt if I shall be much better off if she 
comee. I am afraid I shall be unable to walk, 
even with assistance.** 

She smiled in a fashion which used to annoy 
me in the days gone by. 

I( I beg your pardon, Mr. Briggs. but you 
did not use to be so very big and heavy. My 
mother is still as strong as I am ; she and I 
will make nothing of carrying you between us." 

Before I could think of any appropriate 
remark to make she had swung round into the 
copse, and, carrying her gun as one to whom 
its presence was familiar, vanished among 
the trees. 

In le^s than ten minutes she was buck 
again, accompa nied by a woman whose 
relationship to herself was obvious. Like 
herself, she had every appearance of having 
just left the house. Although her hair was 
iron grey, she certainly did not look old, and 
carried herself almost as straight as her 
daughter, who made short work of the intro- 

"* This, Mr, Briggs, is my mother ; she has 
no English, but she wishes me to tell you how 
glad she will be to give you the shelter of what 
is left of her house. She is sorry to hear you 
cannot walk, but she does not think that, with 
my help, it will be very difficult to carry you 
the short distance we have to go." 

Those two women, the old and the young 
one, crossing their hands, gave me what as a 
child I used to call a " Sedan chair/' Picking 
me up from the ground, they made as little 
of bearing me over it as if I was nothing at all. 

I had always been conscious that I could 
hardly be called gigantic ; how small I really 
was I never appreciated until that moment. 

When they put me down again it was in the 
living room in what had once been a comfort- 
able farmhouse. When, later, I heard her 
story told by the younger woman, I began to 
understand the way she looked at things. 
Fate could hardly treat her worse than it had 
done already. Nearly everyone she held 
near and dear had been killed before her eyes 
by the ruthless invaders for no reason what- 
ever, so far as one could judge, except the 
lust for blood. The happy, thriving home 
had been turned into a ruin from which even 
hope was banished- Neither age nor sex had 
been spared. Brutal, senseless cruelty had 
usurped the place of law and justice. Any- 
thing more dreadful than the tale she told I 
never heard. By the time she had finished I 
did not wonder that it was always of the rifle 
she was dreaming ; that one was never far 
from her hand ; that, considering what the 
* sight of a German soldier had come to mean 
to her, the opportunity of using one was never 
lost. In her unhappy country " German " 
and u devil J1 have come to mean the same 
thing. Wherever a German foot has trod 
will be found the stain of innocent blood. 

On the other hand, she regarded an English 
soldier almost as if he were something sacred. 
With all my heart I trusted that her good 
opinion of him was no higher than he deserved. 

One fact was sure— -no sacrifice could he too 
great which would keep an unfriendly German 
foot from being set upon English ground. 

{The thrilling txptrttnm of Sam Briggs will bt wntinutd ntxt month*} 



A Confession-Book for Artists, 

Here is a. continuation of the novel adaptation of the old idea of Confession- 
Books^ tke questions being answered by lady artists, not m writingf but by 
pictures. Other adaptations of tke Confess ion- Book will appear in due course* 
Our readers are referred to page 209 for an interesting announcement. 


J fvot* 

IvujJjqmJL * 

S Jvovc tab* 

1, Your Ideal of a Man. 

O At What Prriod of Hilary Have W 
*■ Worn tbo Mo*t B«c>m : h7 Cottume? 

Hvu ■ 

5 u\( -b 

3 En How Few Linet Can You Draw a 
Baby 7 


If You Writ Not m Art rt, What Would 
You Mm! Like To Bo? 


What Would You 1 ike But lor a Birth- 
day Pr«enl 7 

6. Your Pet Atotmoh. 

by Google 

Original from 




^V, ^JV >**s peraonifad by 
$kjl\ A WOMAN 

1, Your H<ral of * Ma 

At What Period of History Have Women 
Worn iht Must Becoming Coiium* 7 

In How Few Linn Cm You Dr« 

J Wbit Would You Like Beit for a Eirtb- 
^* day Prevent 7 

■'■■' LL 

^ If You Were Nol an Artist, What Would 
~- You Moil Like To Be? 

Ynrr Pe? Aversion* 
r iT_rn i a i t rvni 


_ TACK- 



Illustrated by W, Heath Rotmson. 

LONG time 
ago, in an 
age s o 
happy that 
neither you 
nor I will ever see its 
like, there Jived an old 
man and an old woman. 
They had but one son, 
who lived with them 
in the heart of a great 
forest. The boy had 
never seen anyone 
except his father and 
mot her , but he read a 
great deal, and thus 
learnt that other folk 
existed* In his books 
he found so many 

references to wonderful princesses that at last 
he conceived a most violent desire to see one. 

One day, when his father had gone into the 
forest, the young man told his mother that 
he wished to leave her. 

s 1 see nothing here," he said, " but great 
trees all round me, and if I stay here I shall 
never learn anything." 

The young man left his mother in tears, 
and presently met his father. The latter 
asked whither he was going, and he repeated 
what he had already said to his mother. 

L Very good, my son," said the old man, 
embracing him. U I am sorry to see you 
leave us, but since it is your own idea, it is 
best that you should go.' 1 

A moment later, as Jack was pursuing his 
way, his father called him back t and drew a 
golden snuffbox from his pocket. 


YOU DlttlRfc OF DSP' " 

by Google 

Original from 



" Take this little snuffbox/ 5 he said ; " hide 
it in your pocket, and open it only when you 
are in danger of death," 

The young man journeyed on for a long 
time, stopping enly when compelled by 
fatigue. N.ght fell at length, and he could 
hardly see the road in front of him. In the 
distance a tiny light glimmered, and, directing 
his steps towards it, he presently reached a 
door, upon which he knocked, A servant 
came to open it, and asked him what he 
wanted. Jack replied that he was looking 
for a night's lodging and supper. The 
servant gave him a meal, and while he was 
eating the young daughter of the house had 
the curiosity to come and look at the stranger. 
His appearance must have pleased her 
greatly, for she went to her father and told 
him there was a charming young man in the 

Her father, in turn, was curious to make 
the latter's acquaintance. He questioned 
Jack as to what he was able to do, and the 
boy replied that he knew how to do every- 

il In that case," said his host, " I bid you 
contrive that at eight o'clock to-morrow 
morning there shall be an ocean in front of 
my house, and on the ocean some great 
vessels, The b : ggest of the ships shall fire a 
gun in the I ing's honour, and the last 
bullet shall split in two the foot of the bed in 
which my daughter sleeps. If you do not 
carry out the whole of this task, you are a 
dead man ! " 

M Very good," said Jack ; u there will be 
no difficulty about that." Ami with these 
words, he went upstairs to his chamber, said 
his prayers, and fell asleep. 

He woke a little before eight o'clock, with 

barely time to remember his host's commands. 

Recollection came to h:m of the snuffbox 

which his father had given to him. 

** Never/ 7 he remarked to himself, " have 

I been so near death as at this moment [ " 
He felt in his pockets, drew forth the golden 

snuffbox, and opened it. Out of it sprang 
three little red dwarfs, who exclaimed, 

II What dn you desire of us ? " 

" I desire/' said Jack, n that there should 
be at this very moment before this house an 
ocean, and on this ocean some great vessels, 
of which one shall fire a gun in honour of the 
ting, and the last bullet must split in two 
the foot of the bed on which my host's 
daughter is sleeping," 

M It will be done/' said the dwarfs ; " sleep 

Before Jack could say another word, 

Digitized by k_iOOglC 

eight o'clock struck, and the report of a gun 
resounded through the air. He leaped out 
of bed, and I can assure you that no one was 
more astonished than he to find hmself so 
weO obeyed, He donned his clothes, w<nt 
downstairs j and met the master of the house, 

4t That was not at all badly done, young 
fellow/' said the latter, as he came up ; " you 
are certainly clever. Two more tasks, and 
I give you my daughter. But, first of all, to 

Jack ate with an excellent appetite, and 
exchanged tender glances with the young 

The second task consisted of transporting 
all the trees in the garden a league away 
before the following morning, and, not to 
make our story too long, it wdl be enough to 
say that Jack succeeded, and his host was 
very pleased. 

tl There now remains/' said the latter, 
M only the third task. You must build me a 
great castle resting on twelve golden pillars. 
In front of this castle I wish to see a regiment 
at drill, and, at the moment when eight 
o'clock is striking, the colonel must crv, 
' Shoulder arms ! ' " 

lt I quite understand," said Jack. 

On the morrow everything went as it should, 
and the young man received his nost's 
daughter in marriage. 

But Jack, alas, was not at the end <>t 
his troubles. There came a day when h:s 
father-in-law, who was a wealthy nobleman, 
arranged a great hunting party, to wh T "h ho 
invited all his friends and neigh hours, with 
the object of showing them the new mansion 
which Jack had built. Jack himself wan 
bidden to assemble th£ gutsts in the hvnring- 
field and bring them all back to the castle, 
and his father-in-law presented him with a 
fine horse and a purple jacket. He put the 
latter on and went off. 

Rut during Jack's absence a servant felt 
in the pockets of his old ccat and pulled out 
the golden snuffbox which had been left 
behind, He opened it, and on the instant 
three red dwarfs came forth and asked his 

11 I desire/' said the servant, " that this 
castle shall be transported far from here to 
the other side of the ocean." 

i( Good, Do you wish to be taken with 

u Yes." 

u Then climb up on the roof." 

The servant obeyed, and the castle took 
flight to the farther side of the ocean. 

When the hnntsm*m rrtTjrned not a vestige 


? 3 o 


of castle, not a trace of golden pillars ! 
Everything had vanished; to the great disap- 
pointment of the guests. 

The blame was laid on Jack, and his father- 
in-law gave him a year and a day in which to 
recover the lost castle. If he were not 
successful when this period of grace was up, 
his wife was to be taken from him. The 
poor lad j therefore, set forth, taking with him 
a good horse and a large sum of money. 

tie travelled up hill and down dale, through 
dark forests and over great deserts, and 
arrived one day at the palace of the King of 
the Mice. A small mouse was on guard 
before the door, and cried out ; " Halt 1 
Who goes there ? J> 

" I wish to see the king/' said the young 

The Sovereign received him well, and asked 
him whither he was going. Jack replied that 
he had lost a great castle, and was obliged to 
find it and bring it back to his father-in-law 
within a year and a day. 

" We will look for it to-morrow," said the 
king ; " for the moment, to dinner ! " 

Jack ate with excellent appetite, and slept 

On tut morrow he accompanied the king to 
the parade-ground, where all the mice hi the 
world had been mustered by Royal order. A 
herald asked them if they knew of a great 
castle built on twelve pillars of gold. 

M No ! " they replied, with una voice. 

The king advised the young man to pay 
visits to his two elder brothers, the King of 
the Frogs and the King of the Birds. 

" Seek them out/ 1 he said ; " for possibly 
they will have heard tell of your palace. 
Here is a cake which you will deliver to the 
King of the Frogs , and by this token he will 
know that you have been sent to him by me. 
Do not forget to tell him that I am in good 
health, and that I shall be happy to have 
news of him*'* 


by Google 

Original from 




Jack took his leave ; and just as he was 
crossing the threshold he perceived a little 
mouse, who begged him to take her with him. 
Fearing that to do so would displease the 
king, he refused ; but the mouse insisted* 

** Perhaps I shall be able to help you/' she 

" Very well ; up with you." 

The mouse climbed all the way up the 
horse's leg 3 and so reached the young man's 
boot. He then picked her up and put her in 
his right-hand pocket. 

After travelling long upon the road, Jack 
at last reached the kingdom of the frogs. In 
front of the palace was a frog doing sentry-go, 
with a little gun upon his shoulder, who cried 
out ; " Halt ! Who goes there ? " 

'* I wish to see the king/' said tile young 
man ; and he was forthwith admitted. 

The king came to meet him, and Jack told 
his story anew, right from the beginning to 
the end. When it was concluded, they 
supped and retired to bed. 

fin the morrow a shrill whistle pierced the 
air, and from all sides the frogs of all thi* 
world were seen hastening up. The king 

asked which amongst them was aware 
of a castle on twelve golden pillars; 
but none had seen it. Jack then fore 
departed to the King of the Birds. 

Just as he was leaving the palace, a 
small frog begged him to take her with 
him, He refused at first, but presently 
allowed himself to be persuaded, and 
put the little creature in his left-hand 
pocket . 

He rode three times as far as on his 
previous journeys, and arrived at length 
at the palace of the eldest of the three 

A charming little bird was mounting 
guard, but allowed the traveller to pass freely 
into the king's presence, where his tale was 
related once more. 

" Very good," said the king ; (l to-morrow 
I wilt summon my subjects, and they will 
tell you if they know your castle/' 

Jack put his horse in the stable ; dined, and 
went to bed. 

On the morrow the king took him into the 
fields and began to whistle, Instantly the 
birds of all the world flocked round them, 
but to the question which was put to them 
they replied that not one of them had seen 
the castle. 

" Wait a moment/' said the kingj M I do 
not see here the greatest of you all." 

They waited for a little wh!te> and then two 
little birds flew forth to seek the laggard. 

Presently there appeared an enormous 
eagle, who seemed quite exhausted. Th^ 
king asked him if he knew of a castle with 
twelve golden pi ha vs. 


23 2 


li Yes/* said the eagle j " I have just come 

" That h good/' said the king ; " this 

young man has lost it. Vou will take 
him thero as soon as you have had some 
rest and refreshment/ 1 

A calf was slain, and the 
largest portion of it was 
given to the eagle, in order 
that he might gain strength 
for so long a journey. Then 
Jack riimtad upon the birds back, 
and they flew off* 

In due course they reached the 
famous castle, but were at a loss 
to know how to proceed for the 
recovery of the golden snuffbox. 

" Put me down on the ground,'* 
said the little mouse whom the 
young man had brought ; " I shall 
have no difficulty in bringing it 
to you.' 

She scurried into the castle, and, 
after routing about in every corner, 
at length discovered the snuffbox, 
which she took to Jack. He placed it 
gleefully in his pocket, but did not open it. 
He was desirous* before the castle was 
transported, of rendering thanks to the 
King uf the Birds, and climbed again on to 
the great eagles back, 

As the little band was crossing the ocean, 
a quarrel broke out amongst the animals as to 
whether the eagle or the mouse had rendered 
the greater service to Jack. In the course of 
the dispute, a sudden jerk caused the snuff- 
box to fall into the water. 





" There ! " said t lie frog ; " 1 knew quite 
well that you would have need of mc." 

She plunged into the depths of the ocean, 
and was lost to sight for three days and 
nights. At the end of that time she pushed 
her nose out of the sea, in order to take 
breath. The rest flew down towards her, 
asking if she had found the snuffbox, 

" No," she said. 

14 Then what are you doing on the sur- 
face ? " 

" Nothing at all ; but I must take 

A moment later she dived again, and 
after searching for another day and night 
she at length brought back the precious 

Continuing their journey, the travellers 
arrived, some four days later; at the home 
of the. King of the Birds. The latter 
'was rejoiced to 'see' them, received them 
courteously^ and conversed with them for a 
long time. 

Presently Jack opened the snuffbox, and 
bade the red dwarfs seek out the castle* The 
dwarfs departed, and, despite their fears that 
the folks in possession of the mansion might 
be at home, the latter proved, luckily, to 
be out. Only a kitchen-maid and a serving- 
wench were on the premises, and these were 
made to climb on to the roof. 

Hardly had they got there when their 

masters returned. IHit the latter were too 
late — they could oniy raise their arms to the 
sky, and despairingly watch their castle 
flying at full speed through the air. 

After a journey of nine days the spot was 
reached where the king and jack were in 
waiting. The king greatly admired the 
castle, and wished to ascend the golden steps 
in order to inspect the interior. But the 
year and a day of grace was nearly at an end, 
and Jack, being anxious to regain his young 
wife, bade the dwarfs set him on the way. 

When the journey was ended, there was 
Jacks wife, coming to meet her husband 
with a chubby and delightful baby boy in her 
arms ! „ •' 

The young 
couple made 
their home in the 
castle, and lived 
there happily for 
a long time with 
the mouse and 
the frog. 


Vol. J- 30, 





A Mascot Mermaid. 


M V washerwoman on the Italian Riviera 
* ' married a well-to-do man, who fell on evil 
times. His dying hither said to him, *' I 
can leave you no money, but I give you 
something worth much more than money , 
and I am convinced that some day it 
will bring fortune to one of our family. 
It is a mermaid, caught by my father 
while fishing off the island of BergeggL He 
caught it alive at a spot where you can see 
the ruins of old Roman rooms at the bottom 
of the sea in clear weather, and he set great 
store by it." So far it has not brought any 
luck to the family, but it certainly has a very 
strange, uncanny appearance. It has been 
elaborately mounted, in a very ugly way, 
with shells and seaweed and bits of coral on a 
piece of rock, is covered with a glass case, and 
kept in a padded box. From head to tail it 
measures about eighteen inches, and is cer- 
tainly genuine, for there is no trace of seam 

or join. The human and fish parts of the 
body are of equal long h. The scales are 
still fresh and glossy and well marked, vary- 
ing in colour from yellow to deep brown and 
green. The head and back and arms are 
black, perhaps with age, and there is no trace 
of there ever having been any hair. There 
are furrows on the back of the head, and the 
ribs are prominently marked ; to the touch 
all is as hard as a statue. The expression of 
the face is ugly, but not unpleasantly so* 
Eyes and mouth are unduly large. The two 
rows of tiny, sharp, fish-like teeth are well 
preserved. The five fingers on each hand, 
with little nails, are as distinct as those of 
any human being ; the ears also* The arms 
are proportionately as long as those of cai 
ape. Perhaps it is a merman or a mer-baby* 
It certainly does not suggest the charms or 
overwhelm ng attractions of the sirens of 
legend and romance. 


by Google 

Original from 


2 35 

A Human Telescope. 


An article telling how a man, by dint of constant practice, has succeeded in being able to add at 

will several inches to his stature. 

" {* AN a man, by taking thought, add a 

^* cubit to his stature ? " 

The quotation, of course, is from the Bible ; 
and one may say at once that it is still im- 
possible, as it was then, for a man — either 
by taking thought or in any other way — to 
add a cubit to his stature ; for the Hebrew 
cubit, according to the best authorities, was 
probably not less than about eighteen inches 
long. On the other hand, however, there is 
living at this present moment in London a 
man who is able to increase his height at will 
by between seven and eight inches. This is 
Mr* Arthur Carlton Philps, well known on the 
music-hall stage these twenty years past as 
a clever comic conjurer and illusionist under 
his pseudonym of ll Carlton." There is, how- 
ever, let us hasten to add, no conjuring or 
illusion about this particular feat. The in- 
crease of height is real— that is 
to say. not apparent only — and 
is accomplished by stretching the 
muscles of the knees, hips, chest, 
throat, and other parts of the 
body, and maintaining them 
rigidly in that position by what 
is more or less an exercise of 
will-power, In short, " Carlton " 
grows before one's eyes* adding 
to his stature inch by inch— a 
ot human telescope. 

How really marvellous is this 
extraordinary feat maybe gauged 
if we stop to reflect that tens of 
thousands of men are debarred 
from entering the Army, or kept 
out from the regiments of their 
choice, because they lack so 
little as an inch of the minimum 
stature fixed by the authorities. 
Yet here is a man who is able 
at will to add to his height, not 
one inch only, but two, three, 
four T and so on, and this without 
apparent effort* 

14 Carlton " does not pretend 
to be the originator of the feat. 
A man named Willard, an Ame- 
rican, did the same tiling in the 
States, and so far as *' Carlton " 
is aware he is the only man. 
besides himself, who has ever 


■M'l-li \l; i OH 

by Ooogle 

succeeded in accomplishing it* For it must 
not be imagined that it is an easy thing to do* 
On the contrary, it is exceedingly difficult* 
Mr, Willard, for instance, overstrained him- 
self in practising it, and was very ill in conse- 
quence, and " Carlton " also found the tit 
effects so pronounced that he never produced 
the feat— as was his original intention — in 
public, and only performs it now very occa- 
sionally in private for the benefit of his 
friends, or, even more rarely, for charity, 

tc How I came first to know about it/ 1 said 
11 Carlton ,J recently, " was this way. Inman, 
the billiard champion, was visiting my house, 
and he brought Willard with him. After * 
lunch we strolled out on the lawn, and I 
suddenly noticed that my American guest 
had apparently grown taller ; as indeed, of 
course, he had* Naturally, however, I put 
it down to my fancy* But a 
minute or so later, on looking 
up suddenly from an orchid I 
had been examining, I saw that 
he was taller than ever, and I 
suppose I looked the amazement 
I felt. Anyway, Inman and he 
burst out laughing, and the 
former then introduced Willard 
as * The Man Who Grows,' 

" Afterwards Mr, Willard was 
good enough to explain his 
method to me, and that night, 
after my guests had gone, I 
started practising on my own 
account. While 1 was at it, and 
still more after I had finished, 
I felt something of the sensa- 
tions, I suppose, experienced in 
the olden days by criminals on 
the rack. Every bone, muscle, 
and sinew in my body ached ; 
every nerve seemed on the 
quiver. But 1 persevered ; and 
in time I succeeded. 

L: I found, however, that the 
difficulty of the feat, and inci- 
dentally its attendant pain and 
discomfort, increased enormously 
with each additional inch* The 
first one was not so bad. But 
putting its difficulties, etc., at, 
say, ten, then those inseparable 
Original from 

i AS HK 
THE >IA(1K. 


23 6 





A wit. kk;ht inches 

from the next inch of increase were fully one 
hundred ; the third inch was represented by 
one thousand, and so on. In short, it resolved 
itself into a case of what mathematicians call* 
I believe j geometrical progression. 

" For these reasons I should not recommend 
the ordinary man to attempt the feat. He may 
easily do himself a serious injury. The strain 
told hardly on me, as I have already said." 

In conclusion it may be mentioned that 
M Carlton n has succeeded in mystifying a 
good many people by this growing feat, in- 
cluding at least one famous Scotland Yard 
detective. " I was playing billiards with 
him," he says, "and an argument arose as 
to our relative heights. He was a tall man, 
measuring six feet in his stockings, which is 
also my normal height* His impression was 
that he was taller than I, and to settle the 
point we adjourned to a police-station and 
were measured by a machine that they kept 
there for recording the heights of criminals. 

" He, of course, measured his ordinary six 
feet. I stretched myself ever so slighily, 
and of course without any apparent effort, 
and beat him by an inch. ' Well/ he ex- 
claimed, 1 1 should never have thought it ! ' 
1 Oh/ I retorted, * I believe it's the fault of 
that old machine of yours. It doesn't record 
accurately. Fm taller than that.' 
1 u * Oh, that's nonsense ! ' he replied, hotly. 
* Thousands of criminals have been measured 
by it, some of them several times over and on 

different occasions, but the measurements 
never vary by more than the minutest fraction 
of an inch* 111 bet you anything you like 
you're wrong,' 

(( Of coarse, I wasn't going to bet on a 
certainty, so I simply said that I thought he 
was mistaken, and, placing myself on the 
platform of the machine, I invited him to 
readjust the measuring arm. This time it 
stood at six feet two inches, 

" ' Well, III be hanged !' he ejaculated, in 
blank amazement, * This beats everything, 
I can't understand it/ * Nor can 1/ I replied, 
gravely, * because by rights I should measure 
six feet four inches. Will you please try 
again ? ' 

u Too astonished to reply, he proceeded 
to do as I had asked. The measuring arm 
registered six feet four and a half inches. 
4 Half an inch too much/ I said, ' Your 
machine's no good,' 

" By this time my detective friend hardly 
knew whether he was standing on his head or 
his heels. He was dumbfounded — flabber- 
gasted. So, taking pity on him, I explained 
to him how it was done. 

11 ( Well/ he remarked, thoughtfully, after 
lie had recovered somewhat from his astoaish- 
ment, ' I hope the knowledge of how to 
accomplish the feat won't spread among the 
criminal fraternity, for if it does the Anthro 
pometricul Department at Scotland Yard may 
as well close dowri t ' ?t 

by Google 

Original from 



England Through Japanese Eyes. 


THERE is a quaint perversion in Japanese 
' art which translates all that it sees, 
although it may have an exact model before 
it, into terms of Japanese convention. 

So it is with the curious hand -printed wood- 
cuts here reproduced, issued on the occasion 
of the ceremonial opening of Nagasaki and 
Hakodate ports to European commerce in 
1856, after the empire had been closed to 
foreign intercourse for nearly two and a half 

On this occasion, 
so i mpottant i n t he 
history of Japan, 
were issued many 
volumes of 
coloured woodcuts , 
to introduce to the 
Orient the wonders 
of the Occident, 
and this particular 
book, by Goutri- 
Sahide, professes 
to give views of 
the chief European 
cities and of the 
manners and cus- 
toms of those 
Western b a r- 
harians who had 
settled in Dai- 
Nippon since the 
forcing of the em- 
bargo by Captain 
Ferry in 1854, 

In the first view is shown London Bridge, 
and the artist, to accommodate the great length 
of the structure, has doubled it on itself t 
giving it a right-angled turn ; the Tower of 
London in the distance is faintly reminiscent 
of Westminster Abbey, and the Monument 
of the Greai Fire of London reproduces the 
Shot Tower at Waterloo Bridge ; and although 
we know a Chinese junk was once on exhibition 
on Father Thames, a fleet of ships with 



Tjriginsn from 


2 3 8 


matting sails is still an unknown quantity 
there. The costume, too, is decidedly Japa- 
nesque, for while the gentleman on the 
extreme right is in the fashion of 1750, most 
of the others follow faithfully the modes of 
1856, One would think, too, that a Chinese 
native carriage drawn by two diminutive oxen 
would be rather a novelty in the Borough, 
whence it must have come. 

The other illustration shows the interior 
of an Englishman's home, where the fanvly 
are at breakfast (note the Pre-Raphaeiite 
treatment of the cruet-stand). They are 
evidently eating to ragtime played by the 
gentleman with the 'cello, A view of a river, 
perhaps again the Thames, with shipping 
and sampans with their distinctive sails, is 
seen through the open door. 

A Diamond Probl 

THE following is a good example of a type 
of problem that used to be very popular 
some years ago. In these Diamond Problems 
each number represents a letter of the alphabet 
which, when substituted for the figures, forms 
part of a word. These words run both hori- 



letters, and so on, until thirty-two words of 
different lengths have been made. 

1* 4, A plare of <kien- 45-48 A hur<kn + 

9- [2, To apiale. [liuii.j 55-56, Ac;uTLi£e nf wood. 


78 70 


44 £6 

as 59 

66 60 

67 €1 

66 62 


49 42 

50 43 

51 44 





54 45 

63 55 46 

56 47 




13 25 

19 2B 

SO 27 

21 29 

2£ 30 
23 31 


33 37 

34 38 40 

35 39 

15 24 


17-20. A ptri**l of time. 
25-31. Disturbing ihe 

32-36. An empty railway 

1 ruck. 

A small animal* 



A measure. 


A iiieltth 
49-52. An abbreviation 

of a U'.lr. 
57-63. To pervert. 
64-68. An exlFiio nit nary 
69-7 T, A ptotioiin. (man. 


1 1-1-6 

5- h 
4 1 44 

41-9, An aerial fluid, 

49-17. Spoil. 

57-25, One who trifles, 

04 44. To bind. 

69*52. An imerjccimn. 

72 60. A decree* 

7f^5j. A vulvar person, 

68*45* A unity. 

6 ?-Ji. Mhimiijj. 

56 24. Articles of inter esti 

4H 16, To fix. 

1 2- $Z. A fence. 

20 37, A loud noise. 

2S-40. A ami re. 

zt'iQ. A foul substance, 

13*56. 5 ma lb 

zontally and vertically. A definition is given 
against each group of numbers to assist in 
the solution of the problem. For instance : 
The numbers 1 to 4 represent a word of four 
letters ; likewise 41 to 9 a word of three 

The definitions, although purposely a trifle 
ambiguous in some instances, in order to 
make the solution a little less easy, are 
nevertheless absolutely correct. 

The solution will be given next month. 

** The Best ^rVar Story I Have Heard. 


Pre vi qui invitations to Our readers to con tribute to our pages Have had such happy results 
that once more we wish to try the experiment. Most readers have heard at first or second 
hand some story of the war which seems too good to be lost. This is the story we want 
you to send us* Whether it be serious or humorous is immaterial, so long as it is a good 
one, and all stories published will be paid for, Mark envelopes "War Stories." We g£ws 
below a few specimen stories, sent to us by some of our best-known contributors. 


I think one of the funniest stories that I 
have heard in connection with the war is one 
of two Jews — the one German and the other 

At dead of night they leave their respective 
trenches— each bearing a banner. 

They meet in the no mans land between 
the trenches, exchange banners, and silently 
return with their trophies, and are both 
decorated for their prowess. Business as usual ! 


Aristocratic old French lady to Private 

Atkins (with enthusiasm); "You English 
soldi ers ; you are so wonderful, yes. You are 
so brave. You are so magnificent. You are so 
splendid. You are so handsome. You are 

Private Atk : m (remembering Kitcheners 
advice) ; " Hop it I M 


11 v friend , Colonel F. G. Langham, V.D,, 
of the 5th (Cinque Ports) Royal Sussex 
Regiment — it was not he who told me the 
story — before taking his command to the 
Front, where they have achieved fjlory and. 

by Google 

Original from 



alas ! lost heavily in officers and men — was 
arranging for an officer to take charge of a 
certain company which was to remain behind, 
partly for home defence, partly to supply 
drafts to replace casualties, 

" Mr* So-and-so/' he said to one of his 
subalterns, u I will ask you to carry on here 

with Company } in the absence of its 

commanding officer at the iront," 

The subaltern came to attention and 
saluted. " I beg your pardon, sir/' he said, 
" I obey your orders^ of course, but if it is all 
the same to you, sir, I have set my heart on 
going out yonder." 

" Oh j you have, have you ? " commented 
the colonel shortly, but not unkindly. He 
walked to a little group of officers in another 
part of the drill hall. " Mr. So-and-so " 
were his words to a second- lieutenant, u Im 
arranging to leave you in charge of Com- 
pany while we're away. I know you will 
beep them up to the work, and that I leave 
things in good hands." 

The young officer's face was a study of 
disappointment and embarrassment. 

" But I had counted on serving under you, 
sir, out there/' he stammered. " Pd lose 
ten years of my life rather than miss it. For 
God's sake — I beg your pardon, sir — I was 
only going to say that I'll take it as a very 
great favour and honour to be allowed to go 
out to France,'* 

M Humph 1 " said the colonel, gruffly. 
Then he turned to another officer. l * You 
are young in the service, but older than some 
of the others in years. I'm going to give 
yon the responsibility of carrying on this side 
with - — — Company for the present." 

The other flushed up. " I venture, sir/' 
he said, stiffly but very respectfully, t; to 
remind you that my name was down from the 
very first for war service, and so I hope, sir, 
that— y-" 

The colonel did not hear him out but walked 
over to Vet another to speak to the same 
effect ? and to receive, in effect, the same reply. 
Respectfully but very firmly the officer 
pleaded to be allowed a place at the Front. 

Even the women readers of The Strand 
Magazine will, I think, forgive it when I say 
that Colonel Langham swore, 

" It seems to me," he said, with seeming 
anger, M that Fm in command of the most 
undisciplined, insubordinate set of officers 
in all the service, 7 ' With knitted brows, he 

twisted his moustache for a moment. Then 
he broke into a laugh, and with jutf a suspicion 
of a tremble in his voice he added : 4£ But, 
damn it, lm proud of you all ! fi , 

And surely every Briton who reads this 
incident — not a story, but a record of actual 
facts— will share that pride. 


Thk most heroic story of the war which has 
come my way is that of some Roman Catholic 
nuns in Ypres. They were ordered back by 
the authorities to Fopcringhc, about six miles 
a way h because the German bombardment was 
smashing the city to a dusi-heap. They 
begged to be allowed to stay in the hospital, 
where they were nursing soldiers. But 
authority was inexorable. On the worst 
night of the bombardment, shells falling as 
fast as hailstones, houses crashing down on 
every side, and rain pouring from a blackened 
sky, these French nuns were marched to 
Poperinghe. But once there, two of them 
eluded authority, and tramped all the way 
back through the rain to bombarded Ypres 
in order to nurse the wounded soldiers in 
hospital. And those wounded soldiers were 
Germans ! 

Of humorous stories I like best that of the 
old sergeant who said cheerfully to a rather 
dismal regiment just arrived from England 
at one of the bases : " Come, my lads, buck 
up ; it's only the first seven years of a war 
that are really bad/ 1 

Army doctor to officer friend watching 
recruits march by: ct It's strange how one 
can tell by a little observation what a man's 
occupation was previously to joining the 
Colours. For instance, look at Private Jones 
there— ril bet he was a clerk, for he is always 
trying to put his rifle behind his ear ! " 


The following story illustrates the Irish- 
man's well-known love of fighting, A wounded 
Tommy t belonging to the Leinsters, who 
had been in several bayonet charges, regretted 
his inability to deal with more than one Hun 
at a time. This is how he put it : i£ I was 
aft her w r an of ! em, sorr, and, faith , I cud see 
not a wan but him 1 I rimimbered aft her- 
wards that Fd passed by two others whom I 
could 'av shtuck wid the greatest aise ! M 

by Google 

Original from 


\We shall be glad to receive Contributions to this uctimt and to pay for such as are accepted,} 




THE ducks shown in this photograph were fe*lin| 
in the irrigated barley fields of the Imvrid 
Valley, Lower California, Mexico. The water sofi.ens 
the ground, floating up the grains from last 
year's crop, and the birds resort to these 
enormous fields from all the Rid Be Coa*t. 
Their flocks run into the millions. T se 
photograph, made fro in an untoucicl 
negative, was taken with a lens of or Unary 
ang!e just as a fbek rose, fri jatened by t Tie 
appearance of the photographer from behind 
a mule, which had been ridden up quite 
close to the birds ■ They paid little at ten ti >U 
to a man when on a mule or a- horse, bet 15 
used to the Mexican ranch-riders, bat were 
very much afraid of a man on foot. Tie 
section shown was har II y a sixth of the 
huge flock, which extended several hand re J 
yards to the right and left of the birds 
shown in the picture* — Mr. Edward C, 
Cros^man. 3,416, Gien Albyn Drive, Log 
Angeles, Cab, U.S. A, 

used for the <xm- 
tour, f uJl-s'.nps lor 
the eyes, and 
brackets for the 
bair* It is 
astonishing how 
lon£ it takes to do 
even a simple little 
sketch of this sort. 
This one took me 
from two to three 
hours, and, as 
may be imagine d, 
the work requires 
much patience. — 
Miss Adelaide S» 
Adcock, 19, Gordon Street, Gordon Square, W.C* 


YOU mi^ht like to add to your Curiosity collection 
the enclosed letter returned to me undeliverable 


^T^HIS portrait of Sherlock I loin ls vas done entirely 

X on a typewriter, the underlining stop being 

because it fell into a tin of tar* The Post Office 
authorities kept it some days f apparently for tbe tar to 
dry, before sending it back to me at the House* of 
Commons. — Joseph King, MJP., Sandhouse, Witley. 


LAST month we invited our readers to Solve the 
following ; — ■ 

; - ' A private is, strictly speaking, supposed* when be 
meets an officer, to commence tbe salute three paces 
before he meets him and to remain at the salute for 
three paces afier he has passed J dm. Therefore, for 
bow main- pares altogether would he remain at the 
saljte* supposing both to be walking at the sam± 
rate ? " 

Solution* — The natural impulse is to answer that 
it must be for six pares, and this is what most people 
will say ; but a litde consideration will show that* 
presuming the officer is approaching the private at 
the same rate as that at which the latter is moving, 
the ac'ual number of paces the private will have tinte 
to take before lie race's the nicer is one and one-halt, 
although he commences to salute at three paces from 
him. After he has passed the officer he will remain 
at the salute for the three paces, the rate of movement 
of himself and the officer in this case making no 
difference, as tbe private cannot see the other, so that 
the correct answer is four and one- half paces* 

by Google 

Original from 


by Google 

Original from 


Dig.lized by ^OUmong the map^^ UN|VERS | TY 

{See pagr 251.) 

MracHWt Library 





Illustrated by Warwick Reynolds, 

In a recent number we published a story entitled " r The Rules df War/' by Vasili Nemirovich- 
Danchenko, which was, we believe, the first introduction to readers in this country of a writer who is 
one of the best -known of all novelists to Russian readers. Of that story we said that it was a 
characteristic specimen, ** beautiful with human sympathy, like all his work" — a remark which is equally 
Applicable to this one. 

For the information of readers who may have missed the story referred to, we also repeat here a 
slight sketch of the Author. Born in 1848, his earliest years were passed in garrison towns in Daghestan 
and Georgia, and his education was completed in the Alexandrovski military school in Moscow. 
Literature, however, attracted him rather than soldiering, and his first sketches, published when he was 
barely out of his leens, stamped him as belonging to the true race of writers, In 1877, on the outbreak of 
war with Turkey, by the side of his friend Skobeleff, he went through the whole terrible campaign, 
in vvhich he gained the Cross of St. George for personal valour. His correspondence from the Front brought 
him immediate fame, and the volume of persona] reminiscences of the "White General" is a classic of its 
kind, At the present moment he is acting as representative of a Russian newspaper at the Front, 

HE last golden glow of sunset 
seemed to linger tenderly on snow- 
clad mountain peak and glistening 
white minaret as night crept 
slowly over gorge and valley and 
crag of the naked Balkans, 

Gradually the dusky shroud was drawn 
over everything* until the whole grand 
panorama resembled the Titanic: altar of some 

for the past six months. 



But now all the giant engines of war had 
become silent* Here and there a solitary 
sentry stared into the darkness, eyes and ears 
strained to the utmost. Fitful snatches of 
song came from the Russian trenches, and the 
sentry as he listened felt still rnoie lonely, 
still more heart -sore. His own feelings lent 
significance to the music. Now it is a child 
he hears sobbing in its mother's arms, now a 
mother mourning her lost boy. 

Over there is the valley of Kazanlik, which 
Turkish poets describe as a smile fallen from 
Heaven, The Bulgarian calls it the Kingdom 
of Roses, In spring and summer the scent of 
the immense sea of flowers is so pungent that 
it sends the blood to the head and provokes 
giddiness in all who pass that way. The 
gem of this earthly Paradise is the little 
village of Imitlij hidden amid groves of poplar 
and vine and quince, and filled with the soft, 
slumbrous gurgling of countless mountain 
springs, clear as crystal and icy-cold even on 
the hottest day of summer. 

The inhabitants of Imitli are all Mussul- 
mans, but to-night the Bashi-BazouKs have 
brought in from Haskio, in the forest near 
Shipka, some Christian prisoners — Stoian 
Doneff, a Bulgarian village schoolmaster and 
his wife, Radonitza. 

The woman's clothing and poor ornaments 
have been torn from her with brutal violence* 
If she has striven to bear her torments with 
resignation, it is solely for the sake of the 
unconscious human atom she is holding in her 
arms. The infant smiles into its mother's 
anguished eyes, and into the grinning faces of 
the fiends whose cruel whips arc goading the 
wretched woman on. 

" Where are they taking us ? " Radonitza 
asked her husband. 

Shrinking under the blows that fall on his 
own buek without intermission* Stoian could 
onlv frown silentlw 

+1 What do they mean to do with us ? '' 
the woman continued, as if addressing the 
question to herself this time, 

u Listen, Rado/' her husband spoke at last 
in short, staccato sentences. " When they 
hang me, strangle the child with your own 
hands, that he may not live to lie an enemy 
to our Faith and our people. You hear, 
Rado ? You understand, dear heart ? n 

Only too well did Radonitza understand ! 
She pressed the infant still closer to her 
l>osorn, heavy tears falling on the chubby 
little hands that stretched up to her face. 

In Imitli, the prisoners were at once brought 
bdqre the Pasha, 

Digitized by C-OOQ I C 

" Well, dog of a Christian, what is vout 
crime ? " asked the Pasha, accompanying his 
question with a kick. 

" I don't know, Pasha/' 

" Low blood always teHs, dog* Leman 
Pasha would not allow any of you to be 
touched, but. thanks be to Allah, he is dead 
now, and there is no one to protect you. 
Silence ? dog ! If I hear a single word from 
you -one word, do you hear ?— I'll have you 
and your whole brood wiped out ! So you 
appealed to the Russians, did you ? " 

"We did not." 

4 * But you are glad they're coming — it's all 
the same. What are you ? " 

" A schoolmaster/ 1 

" The rottenest breed of any. It is from 
you, schoolmasters and priests, tliat all the 
mischief comes* Understand this : if you 
refuse to serve mc and the Sultan, I shall 
know how to deal with you/' 

'* I will serve no one but God and my own 
people, Pasha." 

11 Brave words ! If I didn't need you, I'd 
have you and your brood burnt this very 
instant, out there, in the yard.'' 

" Mv soul is in the hands of God." 

u And your body, dog? That shall be 
thrown to the hungry curs, as mangy and 
as treacherous as you are/' 

f * Unless by the will of God, not one hair of 
my head may fall ! If death does come to 
me, it is His will- Before God, I am innocent 
Pasha, as I am before you* I have done 
nothing wrontf.'* 

"* You can talk, that is clear, Hut t hat dues 
not affect me, Listen ! The Russians are 
coming — we know it. You are a Bulgarian, 
and they will not distrust you. Go and find 
out how many t lie re are in Gabrovo, where 
they are going to, and what road they are 

" I cannot do that, Pasha." 

(C You refuse to serve the Suitan, do you ? *' 

" I cannot be a spy. Pasha," 

" Which means that you are for the 
Russians ! J1 

Stoian bent his head silentlw 

" Speak, dog ! 7 ' 

li Let me answer for him, Pasha," said 
Radonitza, stepp : np forw r ard, " I will tell 
you what is in his mind and what, out of pity 
for me, he is keeping back, I am hut a weak 
woman, Pasha, but I am not afraid of death. 
If my hushand became a spy and betrayed 
the Russians to you, I would strangle his 
child with my own hands." 

l[ Oh t you serpent ! " 

" No, Pasha 7 not a serpent ! Why should 





*4 6 


you insult me ? You threaten us with death. 
Well, li^re we are ! Kill us, if you like. We 
do not treasure life so highly ! But -'—she 
straightened herself — " but, Pasha, neither 
priest nor schoolmaster shall do your bidding. 
What can you do to us ? You can hut kill 
us ! " She made a gesture with her hands, 
as if throwing her worthless life at his 

14 Our faith forbids us to commit suicide/' 
quietly interposed Stoian, 4t or we should be 
already in our graves. That is the only reason 
why we submit to dishonour and oppression/' 

** Oh, if only we had arms ! T7 exclaimed 
Radonitza. a If only we had arms I We 
would die defending our homes, our people. 
But what can w? do with empty hands 
against your soldiers ? " 

" I like you, Hiiiioiim ! '' said the Pasha, 
with a smile, *' No Bulgarian has ever dared 
to speak to me like this before," 

With a passionate movement Radonitza 
stooped and picked up some dust from the 

" Look, Pasha : a few more days now, and 
the fate of Turkey will be like this—'* 

She blew the dust from her hand as she 

Some of it fell on to the Pasha's sleeve ; 
he quietly shook it off. 

" Kill us ! " she continued. " We will die 
laughing, thinking of our future triumph* 1 * 

Then, as if spent by her passion, she took 
the child from her husband and rocked it 
in her arrns* The lioness was now only a 
mother. Her eyes grew dim, h^r head 

- 1 Enough of this jabber ! Fm not here 
to talk to women. Listen -eflFendi," he 
turned ironically to Stoian* * ( Obey m: and 
all shall he well with you ; other wise, blame 

yourself " he paused, as though reflecting. 

t( Look here, effendi, you are free* Go where 
you will*" 

In utter bewilderment Radonitza raised 
her head. 

b£ May I go with him ? M She spoke very 
humbly now. 

" No. You shall stay here* If, within 
five days j your husband does not bring me 
news of the Russians from Gabrovo, I shall 
burn you and your brat— and, 1 * he spoke to 
himself, ki if he does bring me news, I shall 
hang you both to the glory of Allah ! " 

" Go T Stoian ! '• Radonitza whispered in 
Bulgarian, u Go, my beloved ! There is 
no hope for me. The Russians will give you 
arms. You will avenge us ! Go ! JI 

Ikit ; when she saw him pass the threshold, 

her eyes filled with tears and she gazed long 
after him* 

" Curse you", cruel vultures ! " she hissed 
into the Pasha's fkee as she was led away. 

They locked her up with her child in an 
empty mud hut, where she collapsed in a 
corner and sat for hours, motionless, asking 
herself in an agony of fear what would happen 
to her* Would they burn her alive, c: worse ? 
To intensify her misery the hungry baby began 
to whimper. She had nothing to give it. 

4( Hanoum ! " 

Radonitza turned with a start. 

Unheard by her, the door had opened, and 
a tall , uncouth- looking Turkish soldier stood 
before her. His rough, red face was deeply 
scored and seamed, and under an enormous 
nose, shaped like the beak of a bird of prey, 
bristled an unkempt beard and whiskers. 
The red fez had slipped far back, disclosing 
the bald bluish scalp* The ears^ which 
stuck out from the head, gave the final touch 
of coarseness to a repulsive countenance. 

"Arc you hungry?" he asked, roughly, 
approaching Radonitza, 

14 My child is hungry*" 

" Then why don't you feed it ? Jl 

She averted her face while the soldier 
appeared to examine the wall with great 
attenrion. Then, removing his gaze to his 
pock-marked fingers, suddenly, with an awk- 
ward movement, he pushed on? of them into 
the baby's little fist. 

" Oh, you mite ! M h? mumbled, in a gruff 

Next, in a shamefaced way, he produced 
a kind of scone, broke off a small piece, 
chewed it, and put it in the baby's mouth* 

Choking and panting, th? baby, neverthe- 
less, swallowed it. 

" Well, why don't you feed it? What 
sort of a mother do you call yourself ? " he 
asked, angrily, producing another scone. 
(t The Pasha treats you far too well. I'd 
know what to do with you if I were in his 
place. Here ! Take this and eat I " 

Radonitza stretched out her hand in- 
stinct ivelv, but immediate! v drew it back again _ 

** No, I won't ! ?? 

11 Eat ! " 

u Leave me alone ! What does it matter 
whether I die to-day or to-morrow ? M 

(i And what about the child ? Do you 
mean to starve it ? " 

Quite unexpectedly the Turk took the baby 
from her arms and began to feed it. first 
chewing the scone, bit by bit, himself. 

Radonitza watched him in silence for a 
long time. 





you ? Turks are all 
I have not seen a man 

At last she said:— 

u How can I thank 
nruel to us Christians, 
like vou before." 

" Shut up!" he retorted, looking very 
fierce. w In At ppo I have a whole yard full 
of mites like thai . It is two i ice I saw 

them or heard of them. I havs a wife, too* 
She is as young as you are* Why/* he broke 

off abruptly, 4t why don't you adopt our 
Faith ? " 

" We each follow our own road " 

lL Yours is a rotten road. You are Kaffirs 
— X is a sin to speak to you even " 

" Why doAou speak, then ? " 

" Have IW'WP 1 that vou remind 
me of ^NtfelOWnti^h'fiaaiV How can I 
help it ? Soon," his tone became very 



conciliatory, " soon, the Sultan in his good- 
ness — may Allah prolong his days ! — will 
order us to exterminate you all." 

In spite of the man's words Radonitza, quite 
reassured now, began to eat a scone herself, 

w Will your husband be back soon ? " the 
Turk asked. 

" He will never return." 

" What do you mean ? Where can he go ? '' 

i4 He will join the Bulgarian militia/' 

" Good ! Every man ought to fight. But 
what will happen to you ? " 

" Tliey will bum me." 

" And vour mite also ? " 

« Yes^" 

" Oh, you dogs ! Why not come over to 
us and remain alive ? The mite there will 
grow up to be a good Turkish soldier and 
serve the Sultan.' 1 

u Rather than that he should live to go 
against the Bulgarians, I would, myself, 
strangle him/' said Radonitza, passionately, 

" You would, would you ? " 

The soldier lingered, as if uncertain what 
to do. At last he went out, looked about 
him, hesitated, walked round the yard, 
and. finally, began to smash the fence. 

The woman stared at him, amazed. 

When he had finished his work of destruc- 
tion, he moved awkwardly, almost bashfully, 
to th? window. 

" Hancium ! " 

11 Well ? " 

41 If I break the windowj you will go away 
in the night to the Russians, eh ? And you 
will take the mite with you, ch ? " 

Radonitza could not at first grasp the mean- 
ing of his words. Then, suddenly the truth 
dawned upon her, and, obeying an irresistible 
impulse, she caught hold of the hard., horny 
hand and pressed it to her lips. 

£ * Let go— let me go ? Christian woman, or 
Til leave you at onoe ! " 

He pressed his powerful shoulders against 
the wooden bars of the window, so that the 
whole frame crashed out, carrying part of the 
wall with it. 

<+ Good-bye, Christian woman I I shall 
lock the door and watch outside," 

41 But what about you ? The Pasha ? ' 

u That's all right. I have a medal for 
Karadag, No one mil hurt me." 

A minute or two later Radonitza heard 
him sinking of his home at Aleppo, his voice 
blending with the murmur of the streams. 

Pressing her child close to her breast, 
hardly daring to breathe, Radonitza crept 
stealthily from her prison, and in. the bitter 
cold started on her long, solitary journey. 

The moon shed a brilliant light and, for a 
long time, the woman's violet shadow z:g- 
zagged up and down the slopes, before it 
finally disappeared from view. 

Slowly and laboriously, the Cossacks ad- 
vanced in single file. The horses, knee-deep 
in snow, snorted noisily and made desperate 
efforts to find a firm foothold on the rock. 
The faces of the score of stalwart -men, 
swaying in the saddles, were smarting under 
the driving snow, which filhd nose and mouth 
and ear. In places the drifts were so deep 
that the leading rider would almost disappear, 
and the others had to go to his rescue, 

'* Here's a night to be out in/' he growled. 

Towards i:he summit of the pass the way 
was somewhat easier. The storm, toOj was 
noticeably abating, 

'* It will lie all over by morning/' said the 
weather prophet of the little troop. 

Painfully, the Cossacks scrambled up the 
ice-bound slope. At length the troop reached 
the first plateau, and the men, Wathing 
stertorously after their exertions, threw them- 
selves down on the snow for a brief rest, 
retaining their hold on th? bridles the while. 

Overhead, the sky had already begun to 
pale ; a few stars only were now visible. The 
deep ravines, however, were still steeped in 
blue kness, though the wider valleys, filled 
with the mist that accompanies dawn, looked 
like stormy lakes, the eternal mountains 
brooding over them. 

There came a minute of intense stillness, 
when event hi ng was steeped in lazy slumber* 
Then the wind seemed slowly to reawaken. 
It sighed among the branches, scattering the 
frozen snowflakes, and with a low, soft whistle, 
passed on into the ravines, finally dying away 
in the valleys* 

" Well, brother, 1 ' said one Cossack to 
another, " it seems to me we might return. 
We've seen about all there is to see/ * 

* ( Yes ! Look at the Turkish lines over 
there. We've got them in the hollow of our 
hand. They have dug themselves in," 

" The devils always burrow as deep as they 
can — just like moles they are, ' 

The enemy's lines stood out in bold relief. 
Suddenly the sleepy camp wakened into life. 
Immediately after, a muffled rumble boomed 
through the gorges and echoed and re-echoed 
among the mountains. Then^ as the Russians 
did not reply, the camp once more relapsed 
into slumber, save for the occasional dry 
crack of a 1 irle as mucin as to say : — 

" Tfie^H^'JfWJpi&PjSllTake'that I " 




c * Without his guns ths Turk is 
no good/' said a Cossack. " In the 
open he's not worth a copeck." 

s< I don't know so much about 

" What do you mean ? I speak 
oi what I know. I've seen h;m at 

M So have I." 

" Where ? u 

" On the ninth of August," 

" That affair does not count. 
They were all drunk that day." 

Once more the Cossacks are in 
the saddle, moving forward* Con- 
ditions are much better. The wind 
no longer lashes their faces nor 
throws the horses from the slippery 

The officer, looking about him, 
is at the head cf the troop. 

" Have the Turks guessed what 
is b*ing prepared for them? " h^ 
asks himself. " Have they dug 
treacherous holes and mines ? Have 
they placed a masked battery any- 
where, which will sow death in the 
ranks of all who come unsuspect- 
ingly within its range ? " 

No I He can detect nothing ! 

" God is going to give us a fine 
warm day/ 1 says a man, critically 
examining the horizon, 

** Halt I" The officer's voice raps 
out the word sharply, " What's 

All the Cossacks rein in their 
horses. In the still morning air, 
the jingling of the silver accoutre- 
ments and the impatient pawing 
of hoofs sound with extraordinary 

" It must have been my fancy — 
no j there it is again. J> 

" Sounds like a baby crying/' 
said the sergeant. 

" Idiot ! How can there be a 
babv here ? Now, men, to the 

Following the officer, the troop 
started anew. 

" It wa baby," said the sergeant, 
41 1 can hear it plainly now.'' 

By this time the eastern horizon 
was ablaze, Crimson flames were 
spreading all over the mountain 

11 That's where it comes from. 

V*L 1.-32. 


2 SO 


A man pointed to a small snow-covered 
heap in the middle of the plateau. " See 
what it is God is sending us." 

A moment later the Cossacks were all 
clustering round the heap. 

(( Good Lord ! What f s this ? 

il Oh, you poor thin * ! " 

Before the men lav Radon itza, stark and 

The storm had covered her with a light 
mantle of snow, Even after they had lifted 
the baby, the poor mother's frozen hands 
stili pressed the burden to her cold heart. 

" Poor thing ! Poor thing ! ' muttered a 
dozen voices. 

11 Well, anyway, we shaVt go back quite 
empty-handed/ • said one, " We've found 
something we didn t bargain for." 

il God means to send us luck, said another. 
*' A baby always brings luck/ 

lL That's so/ 

11 What the deuce is the meaning of it ? 
Exhaust ion 3 like enough, Tliat d<*es happen. 
Running away from the infernal Turks, I 
suppose. But God has saved the child at 

Meanwhile the baby seemed to be examin- 
ing each of the bearded men in turn. Then it 
stared at the great red disc of the rising sun t 
then at the tree-tops. Its chubby little 
hands and feet waved about in the air like 
the legs ol a grasshopper on its hack. 

i( Ohj you funny little beggar ! There's 
one for you ! " said an old Cossack, tickling 
its neck. 

The baby seized the man's finger and put 
it into its mouth. 

'* Silly kid ! " The grey-bearded man 
laughed. " Well, boys," he continued, in 
a graver voice, " shall we bury the mother, 
or not ? " 

M Leave it for the infantry when they pass 

41 All right ! Back we go then/ 1 

Then came a chorus of cries : — 

u Take care of the kid.'* 

M We're all going shares in it," 

" Turn and turn about to carry it." 

" No (heating." 

" 1*11 shove it inside my coat now and give 
it some biscuit/" said the old Cossack. 

With infinite care, the grey-bearded man 
arranged the baby within his breast, covering 
it up as well as he could, lie gave it some 
biscuit to eat, and in its warm nest it soon 
fell asleep. Each time it save signs of being 
awake the same remarks were made ; — 

*' There's a throat for you ! Shout , young 
'tlflj shout ! You'll be all the stronger for it," 




" Let me have himnow, Simon, it's my turn/ 1 
" No ; Iil keep him a bit longer," 
11 I can carry him as well as you," 

Nervously gnawing the ends of his mous- 
tache, the white-haired General paced up and 
down the big, dimly-lit mud hut that served 
him as headquarters. Now and again he 
paused in front of the table, which was 
littered with plans of the Shipka and with 
staff officers* reports. He was lost in reflec- 
tion for a few moments. Then he resumed 
his interminable promenade. 

On a stool near the door sat his orderly 
officer. He could with difficulty keep his 
eyes open, 

" Lie down, Petroff, Have a rest," said 
the General, in a kindly tone, 

*' It is all right j your Excellency, It's 
only the heat that's affecting me." 

" As you please I What are the Cossacks 
up to ? Let's hope I haven't sent them to 
their death,' 1 

Petroff rose from his seat and opened the 

" No sign of them yet. They haven* t 
an easv job." 

M I know that." 

Water ran down the 
dropped continuously 
the maps and plans, 
drop splashed on the 
apparently, looked on such a state of affairs 
as quite normal, A single guttering candle 
feebly lit up the corners and the small camp- 
bod, which was soaked thiough and through. 
Great pools lay on the floor. 

The General, absorbed in his maps, was 
now seated at the tab]?. The rustle of the 
papers and the drip-drip of the failing water 
were the only sounds audible. 

Suddenly voices were heard outside, 

" See what it is, Petroff ? " 

The orderly rose with alacrity , but before 
he reached the door it was pushed open, and 
the Cossack officer entered. He was covered 
with snow from head to foot. His eyebrows 
and beard were hard frozen, 

* Thank God I At last I " said the General. 
" Well ?" 

u I have the honour to report that ?J 

" Did you go the whole way ? " 

(1 Yes j your Excel '' 

" Can the guns get through ? " 

" Possibly, if the infan " 

" And the cavalry ?" 

" With difficulty. But they might manage/ 1 

The General looked as if a load had been 
removed from his shoulders. 

Original from 

walk of the hut and 

from the ceiling on 

Occasionally, a big 

General's face, who, 



" Well , thanks for your good news* Come 
across the Turks ? ?T 

" No, your Excellency/' 

" So you found nothing ? M 

" Not exactly nothing— the men " 

" Well ? " 

li May they report to your Excellency 
themselves ? It is not quite a Cossack 

"All right! Call them in." The General's 
interest was already aroused* 

One by one, the men stumbled into the hut 
and stocd at attention near the door, as if 
petrified. The coat of the grey-bearded 
Cossack bulged unusually at the breast, 

14 Weil, men, I hear you found something ? " 

In great confusion the Cossacks furtively 
exchanged glances. 

* L Well, have you all lost your tongues ? " 

But the " find " answered for itself. Tn 
the warm room, the contact of the rough 
cloth had begun to irritate it ? and it struggled 
to get out, dgging its hands into the Cossack's 
chest and roaring lustily. 

" Here's a nice how-de-do/ ' said the 
bewildered General, 

The old Cossack stepped forward, took the 
baby out of his coat, and very carefully set 
it down on the table among the maps. 

"Here's a nice how-de-do/' repeated the 
General, quite at a loss. Then he began 
to scratch the baby behind the ear, as he 
might have done to a puppy. After that he 
put a finger into its mouth, but the little 
gums nipped it so hard that, with an awkward 
laugh, he quickly pulled it out, 

M Here's a nice how-de-do ! " was still the 
only comment he could make. 

The baby, wriggling with its hands and feet, 
wr.s about to emit another roar when the 
light of the candle suddenly caught its 
attention and it changed its mind. Pursing 
up its lips in the shape of a little trumpet, it 
gazed intently at the flame. 

*' Shall w? give it some brandy ? " asked 
the General. 

" They don't drink brandy/' the old Cos- 
sack declared, respectfully, 

11 Is there no milk ? " 

" No, your Excellency, They are very fond 
of rusks, though/' 

£i Right ! What have you decided to do 
with it ? Shall we give it to the Bulgarians 
or send it to Gabrovo ? n 

li Wc would like to keep it, your Excellency, 
if we may, God has seni: it to us for luck," 

t( How will you feed it ? " 

" By hand, your Excellency." 

" H T m ! I don't know how that will work." 

said the General , thoughtfully. £l Anyhow, you 
can't all fe< d it ; you'll have to choose a nurse. 
Too many c oks— I mean, twenty Cossacks — 
what a sturdy little beggar it is, to be sure/' 

" Wc have thought of that, your Excellency. 
We mean to give him one nurse, but we shall 
all provide food for him." 

u Who is to be the nurse ? " 

H He shall choose for himself, your Excel- 
lency/ 1 

+< Well, I never ! And how, pray, can a 
baby choose ? J ' 

" The one he smiles at first shall be the 
nurse/ 1 

" Well, well, so be it ! Let us see/' The 
General himself was intensely inteiested now. 

One by one the rough, bearded Cossack 
faces, rendered still more uncouth than usual 
by th^ rigours of a hard Balkan winter, bent 
over the baby. Kindly eyes looked from 
under shaggy brows, but the baby, annoyed 
each time that a burly shape hid the candle 
from its view, only wriggled about more 
and more uneasily, and beat the air with its 
hands and feet. 

Finally it was the grey-bearded Cossacks 
turn to approach. He came up sideways 
so that the light of the candle hit the baby 
once more in the eye. The puckered little 
features relaxed at once into a smile, 

11 Mine, brothers, it's mine," cried the old 
man, joyfully, gathering the baby into his 
arms and hiding it once more within his coat r 

4i It's yours, right enough, that's a fact," 
exclaimed all the others in chorus. 

" You're a lot of duffers/' said the General, 
beaming at them. "Well, men, here's 
something for luck," 

" Manv thanks and long live vour Excel- 
lency I " 

" What are you going to make of him ? " 

" A Cossack. We'll make such a Cossack 
of him ! " 

" And what will you call him ? " 

The men had not thought of that. They 
were at a loss for an answer. 

" I suggest the name of Shipkin/' said the 
General. " You found him on the Shipka. 
Let him be called Shipkin," 

" And as God sent him, your Excellency, 
let u* christen him Bogdan " {God given), 

tk Splendid ! Well, good-bye, Bogdan Ship- 
kin, Grow up to be a credit to Russian arms. 
Good-bye, men, and many thanks/' 

[£ Happy to serve your Excellency," heartily 
replied the men. And Bogdan Shipkin, the 
future Cossack, was triumphantly carried 
out of the General's mud hut into the bright 
light of a new, heaven-sent day, 


Our readers will share our regret at the great loss 

occasioned by the death of Sir James Murray, which 

occurred after this article had gone to press. 






on the other 
side of the 
Atlantic — I am 
not at liberty 
to slate just where, though 
possibly the publication 
ol this article may lead 
o its being voluntarily 
revealed — there is living 
quietly with bis kinsfolk 
an elderly man who is the 
central figure in the 
strangest story that hu.s 
been told for many a long 

This story, which is now 
related in print for the 
first time, is closely con- 
nected with what is un- 
doubtedly one of the 
greatest, if not actually 
ihc greatest work of a 
1 terary kind ever under- 
akeOj namely, ■ he pro- 
duction of the "New 
English Dictionary/ 1 or 
lb Murray's English Dic- 
tionary/' as it has come 
to be called after its dis- 
liriguished editor, Sir 
James A. H, Murray, It 
was begun as long ago a^ 
1857, and is not com- 
pleted yet, though Sir 
James tells me that, in 





riiitit*«..*nLfeM. * lw < the Philological 



spite of the war, which 
has cut him off entirely 
from his German corre- 
spondents, he hopes to 
complete the tenth and 
last of his mighty 
volumes, namely * f T to 
Z/ 1 some ime in the 
present year, 

This is easily the big- 
gest thing, in the 
dictionary line, anyway, 
ever undertaken. Just to 
colled the quotations 
which arc used in it has 
engaged the energies of 
over thirteen hundred 
volunteer readers, resident 
all over the world, and 
since the work beg«m 
they have turned in over 
three and a half millions 
of quotations, represent- 
ing the works of over fixe 
thousand authors, of all 

The project of com- 
piling the New English 
Dictionary originated in a 
resolution by the Philo- 
logical Society of Great 
liritain, in 1857, the 
mover of which was the 
late Archbishop Trent. 
The original plan was 



Society should finance the work, but 
some years later the famous Oxford 
University Press undertook to do this, and 
to bring out the great dictionary. Meanwhile 
an appeal for volunteer readers was issued, 
and met with a large response. For several 
years the thing dragged along, two editors 
and many of the original projectors having, 
in the meanwhile, died. Finally, Sir James 
Murray was chosen as editor, and certainly 
no better man for directing the job could 
have been selected. 

Sir James, who was knighted in 1908, has 
most of the alphabet after his name. He is 
a B.A* of London, an M,A. of Oxford, a 
Ph.D. of Freiburg, and a D.Litt. of Cape 
Town ; also a member of the Institute of 
France, the Imperial Academy of Sciences, 
Vienna, the Royal Prussian Academy, the 
Royal Flemish Academy, the American 
Philosophical Society, and ever so many 
more learned bodies. Born in Scotland, in 
1837, he has many profound works to his 
credit, and is the author of the article on 
" The English Language "in the ^ Encyclo- 
paedia." You will gather that what Sir James 
doesn't know about words nobody does, and 
of all his many distinctions, that of which 
he is avowedly proudest is that of editor of 
the greatest of all dictionaries. 

When he took charge he found himself 
confronted with a formidable job, some two 
million quotations having already been got 
together, and needing to be sorted and 
classified. St James tackled the job ener- 
getically, however, and, for the first five 
years, carried on his labours at The 
Scriptorium, Mill Hill, near London, even- 
tually, however (in 1885), transferring his 
headquarters and staff to Oxford, where the 
making of the dictionary has gone on ever 
since. And so, with these necessary pre- 
liminaries, to our story, which might well be 
deemed incredible were it not abundantly 

It was Sir James Murray's custom, when- 
ever he was ready to start on a new word (and 
the genesis of a single one mostly takes up 
several pages in the " New English Diction- 
ary ') to send it out to all of his army of 
volunteer readers , who forthwith supplied 
the earliest possible quotation which they 
could discover in which the word in question 
was used. 

When this had been going on for a 
time, Sir James discovered that some of the 
most valuable quotations that reached him, 
together with some of the most scholarly 

comments thereupon, were forwarded by a 
certain Dr. \V. C. Minor, who wrote from 
Crowthorne, a small village in Berkshire. 
This contributor's identity puzzled Sir James 
more than a little, the more so as he soon 
came to realize that the latter's knowledge 
of the subject of philology could not be far 
behind his own. So much did Sir James 
esteem the mysterious Dr. Minor, in fact, 
that whenever he had completely finished his 
analysis of the history of any one word, he 
was in the habit of sending the full notes 
connected therewith to his correspondent in 
Crowthorne for his final revision , which, 
more often than not, was productive of 
some important addition or exceedingly 
illuminating criticism or other comment. 

For many months this went on. Even- 
tually, so much did Sir James feel himself and 
Oxford University in the debt of the mysteri- 
ous savant (regarding whose social status the 
distinguished lexicographer could not make 
even a guess) that he one day approached the 
University heads and pointed out that it 
would, so he considered, be a graceful and 
w r el I -merited act on their part if an invitation 
were sent to the Berkshire savant asking him 
to be the guest of the University for a week, 
during which time every possible honour 
should be paid to him. 

The powers-that-be at the University 
readily agrfeed, and the invitation was sent. 
In due course a reply was received from Dr. 
Minor, in which he expressed his deep appre- 
ciation of the invitation, which he described 
as the greatest honour ever shown him, but 
regretted profoundly that it was impossible 
for him to accept it* This reply came as a 
considerable disappointment to Sir James 
Murray, who had looked forward with keen 
pleasure to hob-nobbing with his unknown 
colleague , who, he now surmised, must be a 
poor man, unable to bear the expense of the 
proposed journey. 

Accordingly, on behalf of he University, 
Sir James wrote once moie, explaining tha 
if the question of expense was the stumbling- 
block, Dr. Minor was to understand that 
their invitation began on his doorstep and 
ended there, and that all parties concerned 
hoped sincerely that he would not deprive 
them of the privilege of entertaining him. 

The doctor's reply came promptly. Hi: 
stated that the reasons winch made it impos- 
sible for him to visit the University were not 
financial but physical ones. He added, 
however, that as it would give him the 
keenest pleasure tq have an opportunity of 
making Lhe4MlMfcff?flP of Dr. Murrav, he 

Princeton university 



begged lhat the proposition should be 
reversed, and that Dr. Murray would be his 
guest for a day or two 3 and this at as early 
a date as the latter could manage. Dr. 
Minor added that he personally could not 
come to the station to greet his guest, but 
that he would send his carriage. Sir James, 
being by this time overpoweringly curious as 
to his correspondent's identity, promptly 
accepted the proposition, and, a few days 
later, took train for Crowthorne. 

After a journey of a couple of hours, he 
arrived at the nearest railway-station thereto, 
namely, Wellington College,, and was met by 
a liveried servant., who asked if he were Dr. 
Murray , and on receiving an affirmative 
answer, explained that he came from Dr. 
Minor, and led the way to a handsome 
brougham j drawn by two fine horses, which 
was waiting neai at hand. Sir James entered 
the brougham j and, after a ride of a couple 
of miles, found himself being driven into the 
courtyard of a huge brick building, of a for- 
bidding appearance, as to whose character he 
could not even make a surmise. 

14 Have the kindness to follow me, sir/' 
said the servant , and straightway conducted 
the puzzled savant up a gloomy staircase 
and through a corridor, ushering him 
eventually into a well-appointed private 
office ; at which a man of unmistakably 
official appearance was sitting at a desk. 

The latter promptly arose and greeted his 
visitor with impressive politeness. 

M Dr. Minor, I presume ? M ventured the 
puzzled philologist. 

44 No, Dr. Murray," replied the unknown, 
" I am not Dr. Minor, but he is here ; and 
meanwhile I don't suppose you have the 
slightest idea where you are. This is Broad- 
moor Criminal Lunatic Asylum, and I am 
the Governor/ 7 

Dr. Murray stood speechless. 

M I had better explain at once/' continued 
the Governor, lt that Dr. Minor, with whom 
you have been corresponding, is an inmate of 
this institution. He is, in fact, an inmate 
who has stood his trial for murder/' (Sir 
James gasped.) " Dr, Minor is a citizen of 
the United States/' the Governor went on, 
4t and when he came to us he was not in his 
right mind. Since that time, however, he 
has to all intents and purposes recovered 
h.'s sanity* He is, as you have discovered, 
a man of great- brilliancy and uncom- 
mon learning. Upon recovering his mental 
balance, he requested to be permitted 
to have books , to which we readily con- 
sented, and, as he is a member of a 

Digitized by Lit 

wealthy family in the United States, he has 
been able to provide himself with an excep- 
tionally fine library. He always, it appears, 
has made a hobby of words and their history, 
and he has taken the keenest interest in hs 
work in connection with your Dictionary, 
To-day he is substantially as sane as you 
or I ? and, having been here for many years, 
he is ; needless to say, treated like anyone bu\ 
an ordinary inmate. And now, if you are not 
unnerved by what I have told you, I will take 
you to the doctor, who is waiting for you with 
great eagerness. But stay. Perhaps before I 
do so, I had better acquaint you with the 
details of the act for w*hich Dr. Minor was 
committed to Broadmoor/ 1 

This is the story which the Governor of 
Broadmoor, England's great criminal lunatic 
asylum, related while Dr. Murray sat before 
him, spell-bound ; — 

It begins in the early days of the American 
Civil War, namely, in 1861, when Dr. William 
Charles Minor, then a young surgeon of 
twenty-six, joined the Army of the North in 
his professional capacity, with the rank of 
captain. Dr. Minor, who was tall and guod- 
looking was a member of the New York 
College of Surgeons, and had not long been 
married. lie belonged to a wealthy family, 
and was both naturally talented and excep- 
tionally well educated j among other things 
being an unusually clever artist and painter. 
He had many acquaintances among men of 
culture, one of whom, a professor at Yale 
University, was able to give him, when ten 
years later he set off on what was to prove 
an ill-fated journey to Europe,, a letter of 
introduction to John Ruskin himself. 

Suon after Dr, Minor joined the Army, it 
became his duty to brand a deserter. The 
latter accused him of having carried out this 
duty with unnecessary severity, and the 
incident evidently made a deep impression 
upon the young surgeon ? though it did nut 
upset him unduly. Some time later, how- 
ever ^ having in the meantime served w.t'i 
great credit, Dr. Minor had a sunstroke, the 
consequences of which were serious. He 
was, in fact, so completely unbalanced that 
it was alike impossible to continue in the 
army or ? upon qu.tting it, to pursue hi; 
profession or any course of study. 

His malady took the form of delus ons, 
one of these being that, because of the 
branding which he had been compelled to do, 
he himself was, as he expressed it, a +t marked 
man/' He feared, too, attacks upon himself, 
his supposedly would-be assailants being in 
his imagination always Irish, these being the 




times of the Fenian outbreaks. In the hope 
of a cure, at h:s brother's advice, he entered 
an institution for the insane at New Haven, 
Connecticut, and remained there a year or 
two (th : s was in i86g), but came out with 
h:s delusions as strong as ever. No one 
deemed h : m in the slightest degree dangerous, 
however, and he lived in his brother's house 
for some time afterwards. In these years he 
practically devoted himself to drawing and 
painting, and produced 
some extremely fine 

Eventually, in the 
autumn of 1871, follow- 
ing the advice of his 
friends, Dr. Minor 
started on a visit to 
Europe, from which it 
was hoped he would 
derive benefit. He 
travelled alone, being 
well supplied wiih 
money, and carrying 
exceptional letters of 
introduction, one of 
these, as has been said, 
being addressed to John 
Ruskin. In this letter, 
its author, a Yah pro- 
fessor, explained to Rus- 
kin that the doctor 
hoped to regain com- 
plete possession of his 
heahh, and that he 
desired to make sketches 
and paintings of the 
bea u 1 1 f u 1 seen ery of 

Arrived in London, 
Dr. Minor took lodgings 
in Lambeth, his address 
there being 41, Tenison 
Street — a little thorough- 
fare off the York Road, 
which is, of course, close 
to the Thames. At the American's subsequent 
trial his landlady testified that for a month or 
two after his arrival, namely, in December and 
January, his behaviour was quite normal, 
Then, however, he suddenly began sleeping 
out, returning in an unsettled condition of 
mind. Shortly afterwards, it seems, the 
dfx tor presented himself at the local police- 
station and there made if wild and incoherent 
complaints J? ol persecution from the Irish, 
who, he said, had persecuted him in America 
an ! continued to do so here. He also wrote 
& Utter to the police, in which he said, '* My 

NO 41 1 lEMSON S 

life may be taken any night* I trust your 
agents are not to be bought over, as the 
American ones are." 

The police authorities recognized that the 
doctor was mentally deranged, but did not 
believe him dingerous, It was thought well, 
however, to communicate with his friends in 
America, ani this was done— too late, as it 
proved. For the next act was a tragic one. 
In the Belvedere Road, Lambeth, close to 
Hungcrford Bridge, a 
few hundred yards from 
Dn Minor's lodgings, 
stood, and still stands, 
a large brewery known 
as the " Lion." On the 
night of February 17th, 
1872, about two o'clock 
in the morning, Dr. 
Minor, who was then 
absent from his rooms 
almost nightly, was re- 
turning home, evidently 
in a highly excited con- 
dition. The night was 
clear and starlit. Close 
to the gates of the 
brewery^ the American 
suddenly encountered 
one of the employ is there p 
George Merritt, a stoker, 
who was then going to 
his work. Suddenly three 
shots rang out, and the 
nearest policeman rushe 1 
to the scene to find Dr. 
Minor standing with a 
smoking revolver in his 

"Who fired those 
shots ? " demanded the 

" I did, 7 ' replied the 
American, with complete 
calmness, coming for- 
ward. " Fve killed a 
man. He's lying back there." 

By this time another officer arrived and, 
going in the direction indicated by the 
American, he found the unfortunate stoker's 
body. Death, resulting from one bullet- 
wound in the neck and another in the back, 
had been practically instantaneous. The 
doctor, whom the policeman described as 
entirely cool and self-possessed, was disarmed, 
arrested, and at once conveyed to Southwark 
polite-station, where he was imprisoned. He 
then appeared quite indifferent. On being 
searched, it was discovered that besides 


1 ivi;d is LOMlUN 



being in possession of the revolver, which 
bore the name of a maker in Springfield. 
Connecticut, the doctor was armed with a 
M bowie " knife, which he wore in a sheath 
attached to his brakes* 

At his loggings, besides a number of letters 
of introduction, inclu ing the one to John 
Ruskm already 
were found a 
quantity of 
cuted paintings 
of London and 
the surrounding 

The affair 
made a great 
sensation. The 
carrying and 
frequent use of 
firearms by 
travelling in 
England had 
become more or 
less of a scandal, 
and the attitude 
of the London 
Press towards 
Dr + Minor was 
frankly hostile* 

Dr, Minor was tried at the Spring Assizes 
in the following April, the trial having been 
postponed to permit his wife, his brother, 
and other witnesses to reach England. The 
case was tried before Lord Chief Justice 
Bovill, the prosecution being represented by 
Mr. Denman, Q.C, and Mr, J. C Mathew, and 
the prisoner by Sir (then Mr,) Edward Clarke, 
The proceedings were comparatively brief, 
the evidence of the prisoner's brother 
and wife (the latter s appearance excited 
great sympathy), as well as the evidence of 
the police, making it obvious that the act 
was that of a deranged man. There was the 
police letter to America, too, written before 
the crime, not to mention the fact that the 
prisoner and his victim were absolute 
strangers. The jury, after being charged by 
the Lord Chief Justice, brought in a verdict 
of 4L Not Guilty/' Soon after Dr, Minor was 
taken to Broadmoor, there to be confined, 
" during Her Majesty's pleasure/' as the 
official phrase then went. 

Sir James Murray listened to this extra- 
ordinary tale with amazement mingled with 

Digitized by CjOOQ I C 


sympathetic interest. When the end had 
been reached he begged the Governor to take 
hiai to Dr. Minor, and the meeting between 
the two men of learning who had corre- 
sponded for so long and who now met in 
such strange circumstances was an extremely 
impressive one. It is hard to say which of 

the two en- 
thusiastic phi- 
lologists derived 
most pleasure 
from their inter- 
course, which 
was also by no 
means without 
its fruitful 
results, so far as 
the Dictionary 
was concerned* 
They parted on 
the best of 
terniSjSir James 
placing himself 
at the service 
of his American 
confrere in any 
way in which 
his help could 
be useful, while 
Dr, Minor, on his 
side, promised 
to continue, 
to the best of 
his ability, his work for the Dictionary, 

Dr, Minor's story, as set forth above, was 
related by Sir James Murray to a prominent 
official of the Oxford University Press., 
through whom it reached the present writer. 
The distinguished philologist, unhappily, has 
recently suffered a somewhat severe illness, 
involving, he tells me, a loss of six months' 
work, and thus has little time, at present, to 
give to anything but the completion of his 
great task. For this reason he felt unable 
to agree to an interview which I proposed, 
before completing my manuscript, in which 
the " iV might be'dottcd and the " tV 
crossed as to what appears above. 

Sir James w T as able, however, to give me 
the highly-interesting information that Dr. 
Minor is still alive, in America. " His friends 
succeeded in taking him home a few years 
ago," Sir James writes, "and I correspond 
with him from time to time.' 1 Meanwhile I 
have been able to confirm all the details in 
connection with the American's trial , and as 
to his previous history by reference to the 
very full accounts in the files of the London 





Times, two extracts from which aie here 
reproduced in facsimile. 

In these circumstances, it seemed well to 
discover what, if anything. Sir Edward 
Clarke, who defended Dr. Minor at his trial, 
could add to the story. Sir Edward was 
courtesy itself, and what he had to say 
proved both interesting and illuminating, 

(l I well remember every detail of the 
interesting case of Dr. Minor," said the 
great lawyer, as we talked in his chambers 
in Essex Court, Temple. " As you know, 
he was found ' Not Guilty/ according to the 
custom in those days (to-day he would have 
been found 'Guilty, but insane '), and -he 
was at once sent to Broadmoor. 1 think 
that, had his friends desired, it probably 
could have been arranged for him to have 
been taken back to the United States, but 
they considered at the time that he would 
be as well looked after here as any- 

" Dr. Minor remained in Broadmoor for, I 
believe, nearly twenty-five years," added Sir 
Edward, " and then, largely m order that he 
might carry on his work for Sir James Murray 
under the best possible auspices, he was 
taken to the great private sanatorium 
at Virginia Water, 
where he had his 
library and was 
extremely com- 
fortable* One of 
my personal 
friends, the late 
Dr. Christian Gins- 
burg, the renowned 
Hebrew scholar, 
who lived at Vir- 
ginia Water, was 
a Visitor to the 
Sanatorium, and 
knew Dr. Minor 
well. He admired 
him intensely as 
a scholar, as well 
as personally. 
Some few years 
ago, it seems, Dr, 
Minor had a 
somewhat severe 

■ M . . - ^» — 



Cbotot Oottbt. — {Zk/flre Lord Chief Justice Bovwa.) 

William Charlies Minor, a niiddlc-ajetl mio, wag indicted 

for thfl ra order of ono George Mcrritt, at Lamhetk, id 


Mr, Dermian, Q.C., u4 Mr. J* C. M*lhew conducted 
tho case for the prosecution ; Mr. Edward Clark o defended 
the prifiouer.. 

The Lord Chirp Justice. — Gentlemen ,— If ad? one in 
Ail right eo oen kith another, Jbo i* primd facte guilty of 
murder. And, primd fariti crcry prison must be pre 
*nmed to be in hie ritfht tenae** and therefore to be* 
responsible for hie act*. Bat thU eppliee only in the 
absence of evidence of unsound ncsi of mind - t nm\ 
there is evidence here that the mind ia unsound. Then 
it it no difficult to traca tho uorkiu^s of a mind which 
is^unjound th*t tbo presumption no longer applies \ and if 
tho ef idencc ^atigfie* you that the prisoner at the time he 
wmmUted the act wr.T not in * state to distinguish right 
from wron^ and was not capable of controlling his actions, 
then he would not be re ■ nonaihle for the act he committed, 
and you would find n Tcrdict oF-nafc guilty on tho ground of 
inniuitr, tho oflect of which will be that for tho future ho 
will Improperly Ukcn care of J a orJcr to prevent danger of 
further mischief. 

The jury said they were quite satisfied, and relumed a 
tculict accordingly of Jtot Guilty t on the ground of inaanity t 

illness, and it was as a result of this that 
his relatives derided to take him bark 
home to America." 

Sir Edward explained that it was either 
in 1883 or 1884 that the practice in regard 
to bringing in a verdict upon a prisoner who 
had committed a cirme but had been 
proved of unsound mind was changed. It 
followed upon an attack upon the late Queen 
Victoria, Previously, as has been said, the 
prisoner was found " Not Guilty." Since the 
change, however, a prisoner has been found 
41 Guilty, hut insane." 

Several years ago, in the preface to 
the Dictionary, Sir James placed it on 
record that Dr. Minor sent in '* between 
five thousand and eight thousand quotations." 
The doctors address is given simply as 
" Crowthorne, Berks;" 

At the time of his trial the doctor was 
thirty-seven , and must, therefore, now be 
about eighty. 

Thus ends a tale which I think it will be 
agreed is 4< stranger than fiction." It is 
hardly necessary to say that, in here setting 
it forth for the first time, one is actuated by 
no desire to recall what had been forgotten. 
But to Dr. Minor's deed no criminality 

attached, and 
it remains to 
recognize more 
fully his part in 
the creation of a 
great work of 
learning. In tell- 

ing his story , a 
humble step in 
that direction is 
taken, I do not 
pretend that the 
details here given 
are complete. Now 
that the foregoing 
has been pub- 
lished, however, 
perhaps we shall 
be privileged to 
hear Dr. Minors 
extraord! nary 
story from his own 
lips or pen. 

yoll-m. !byO( 



summing-up. Original from 




ix.— In Their Own Gas. 


Illustrated t>y Charles Pears. 

OR five days I was prac- 
tically unable to move. 
Whether that horrible gas 
had had any poisoning effect 
upon my feet and legs, or 
whether the way those Ger- 
mans had dragged me down 
the hill had done it, I cannot certainly say, 
but there I was, practically unable to move. 
You might not have thought there was any 
house left. There liad been a flourishing farm 
a little time before, but the Germans had 
destroyed that, all that remained being a wall , 
some roof, and u chimney. You would not 
have guessed there was a room, but there was. 
You went round by a patch of evergreens 
and there you were in a sort of general living- 
room, rigged up by madameand her daughter, 
so far us I could judg-\ from the odds and ends 
the Germans had left about. Hy the way, 
1 always was a bit shaky about the names 
out there, but Wiertje> I believe the farm was 
called, and Swerts was madamrs name. About 
the spelling I am not sure, but that was how 
her daughter pronounced the nimes to me, 

11 I was a waitress/' Netta told me, " at 
the tea-shop in London, because my fianci 
Henri was in London also, lie was a chef in 
the employment of the company which owned 
tSe shop in which 1 was engaged- We pro- 
pused, Henri and f, to set up an establishment 
together. We were not quite sure where, and 
that was what we were in London for — to 
learn the business. Then came the war. Henri 
rushed back to fight ; I went with him. My 
mother and my sister wanted me, particularly 
my sister, She was expecting a baby very 
soon. I went straight to her to her home close 
to the Luxembourg frontier. Two days after 
1 arrived there came a German troop of 
soldiers. They destroyed the village with 
cannon. My brother-in-law had some gar- 
ments which were part of j;n old uniform. 

Digitized by GOOglC 

lie put them on. With other men in the 
village he had some idea of attempting to 
defend his home, his wife, his unborn babe. 
Exactly what happened I cannot say, but 
it seems that the Germans shot him in the 
street — found him with a gun in his possession. 
So they destroyed the whole village, together 
with the inhabitants, women, children, old 
and young. They shot my sister ; I saw her 
full. They burned her house* They would 
have killed me, only by some accident I 
escaped. I left everything behind which 
1 possessed. I walked for eleven days ; what 
I suffered cannot be told. At last I reached 
home. My brother was with the army. The 
afternoon of the day on which 1 returned we 
heard that he had been killed at Alost, and 
that my father was wounded at Lou vain. 
They killed him when the fighting was over. 
It was sheer murder. My mother and I were 
alone. One day. happening to be in this part 
of the world, because they could find no fault 
with us ? they set fire to our house, Those 
German soldiers, they are things unspeakable ! 
They left us without a roof to cover us. 
Together, my mother and I have built up 
what you see ; it is all we possess in the world. 
They are not soldiers, those Germans ; they 
are murderers* It is those who arc unable 
to defend themselves that they love to kill. 
Is it strange that my mother and I have both 
of us learnt how to use a gun ? No German 
soldier shall come near us if we can help it. 
Does that cause you to wonder ? M 

I told her that it did not. I thought of 
Dora in the same position T to say nothing of 
Louisa. I pirtured English women at the 
mercy of German soldiers. I did not doubt 
that they would make use of any weapon on 
w r hich they could lay their hands rather than 
trust themselves to them. 

The apartment which served the two women 
as living-room was of the smallest dimensions. 




Towards the evening of my first day Netta, 
with a great sh®w of secrecy, drawing aside 
a cupboard which she called an arnwire^ 
showed that behind it a piece of paper could 
be lifted from the wall as if it were a curtain, 
and behind it was a door. Quite what she 
did to it I never knew, but I know she 
induced it to open, and there was what looked 
as if it might be the entrance to a cellar. 
Into it she and her mother lifted me— that 
first day I couldn't move my feet— carrying 
me along until we reached some place where 
it was light enough to enable you to see. 

" This," explained Netta, M is our hiding- 
place, Many people have hidden here when 
the Germans were looking for them outside. 
It is not luxurious— no, I do not suggest it — 
but it can be made more comfortable than 
you would think/ 1 

She was right ; I am in a position to speak, 
since most of the time I was with them I passed 
in the + ' Retreat/' which was what Netta and 
her mother called it* 

It was a sort of barn, or rather the remnants 
of what had been a barn ; I fancy that once 
it had been a building of considerable size. 
Some of the original beams were standing 
still, great balks of timber some of them were. 
Apparently at one time it had been used to 
store all sorts of farmers' stores. It was a good 
size, much larger than the living -room, 
perhaps fifteen or sixteen feet long and eight 
or ten broad. Light came through a number 
of cracks on one side and an opening at one 
end. The floor was the bare earth* On 
one side lay bundles of litter covered with 

Li There/' said Netta, " are your beds, your 
couches, your chairs, the furniture of your 

As she had said, it was not luxurious, but 
the trenches had introduced me to much less 
agreeable quarters. 

* L Let me recommend you/' she told me, 
u not to choose this end bed. Underneath 
is our chief stock room, with most of our 
stores. I will show you." 

She did, drawing aside the litter which 
formed a couch, disclosing the fact that it 
rested on some boards which concealed what 
seemed to be a pit in the ground, a good large 
pit, filled with all sorts of things. She ex- 
plained what they were. 

" As you perhaps k?.ow, in this country there 
is no food. They will not only rob us of all we 
have, they will feed themselves at our expense. 
liut that is impossible, because there is no 
food for them to eat; there is not so much 
as a sack of corn* If it were not for you 

Digitized by^-OOglC 

English, and for the Americans, who must 
have hearts in their bosoms, all the Belgians 
left in Belgium would starve in a week. The 
Germans would murder us a hundred times 
over. We have to depend upon foreigners for 
our daily bread. For my mother, and for me 
— before you is our larder, before you arc our 
bags of flour, our potatoes, our vegetables, 
our salt, our bacon. Only let the Germans get 
scent of what we are hiding there, we shall 
starve in a week. Those German pigs, they 
go about trying to rob us of the little we ha%*e 
left for food. Two unprotected women — 
those brave Germans, they would think 
nothing of killing us for half a bag of flour, 
even for a dozen potatoes. They themselves 
are badly fed* Their Kaiser, he stuffs him- 
self, so they tell me ; but the cowards who 
do his murdering, he gives them as little to 
eat as he can." 

One thing she said stuck in my ears. 

li You talk about unprotected women. To 
me you don't look as if you were exactly 

On the top of a lot of potatoes, carrots, 
turnips, onions, a number of arms were lying 
— revolvers, rifles, swords, I knew not what. 
She smiled. Just as she was about to speak 
her mother held up her hand with a warning 
gesture. Leaning towards me, Netta spoke 
in a whisper. 

** Make no noise, I will show you some- 
thing." _ 

Stooping forward, she took two rifles from 
the top of the heap of vegetables ; one she 
gave to her mother. She pointed to the cracks 
in the walls- 

' l Those are our windows ; we can see any- 
thing that may be passing outside. They 
cannot .see us. Half a moment's patience and 
you will see." 

They placed me in a position in which, by 
dint of peering through a break in the wall, 
I saw everything that was taking place with- 
out, through openings in the foliage of the 
bushes and shrubs which hid the fact that 
there was anything suspicious upon that side. 
Presently, along the open ground beyond, men 
began to appear, German soldiers, mounting 
upwards towards the top of the hill, 

" What are they wearing on their faces ? " 
I inquired. 

" Those are what they call respirators. 
They are to enable them to breathe in the 
suffocating gas which is the new way they 
have of fighting. I will get some perhaps 
to-day. From the Germans you can get 
whatever they have, if you only know how to 
set about itZ:. r j c ff^|1^f,|flaatter of that, my 





mother and I can kill six or seven of them as 
they go. They will never know what has hit 
them. Only, of course, it is a little dangerous ; 
their comrades might take it into their heads 
to hunt us out. There will be a short shrift for 
us if they find us, ,J 

The two women thrust the muzzles of their 
guns through the cracks, pointing them at 
the passing soldiers. I induced them not to 

"If they knew, those gentlemen," said 
Netta, " how often they pass across the line 
of death. We can shoot, my mother and I, 
I promise we should not often miss. Sometimes 
they pass a dozen times a day, sometimes 
even every hour. But we wish to run no 
risk. Such creatures bring out the worst that 
is in a man or woman. We do not kill even a 
German unless we are pretty nearly sure to 
avoid discovery. There is a piece of ground on 
the other side which we call the 4 Graveyard/ 
One day we are going to send a note to the 
olTirer in command to suggest that they 
should dig it up. They would find it full, just 
a little way under the surface, of dead men, 
who, no doubt, they have reported to their 
emperor, that king of murderers, as missing. 
It is they who have taught us that to murder 

by Google 

is nothing. Presently, now that they ha vie 
introduced their poisonous gas, they will 
learn that it is less than nothing. They 
will discover also, what they will not find 
so amusing — that it is a game which two 
can play at," 

My feet grew rapidly better. On the third 
day I could walk about. Netta and her 
mother gathered information from I knew not 
where. From them I learnt that the battle 
was still raging, that in spite of all their 
efforts the Germans had not driven us from 
our trenches, that the storm of shells still 
rained down on us, gas bombs and all. But 
it seemed that we had leftrnt some trick to 
get the better of the worst of the suffocating 

lL It seems," explained Netta,, " that they 
have not enough of it. If they could only get 
enough of it they would soon drive your 
people out of the trenches, or kill them if 
they persisted in staying in," 

My position was a strange one. All day and 
night 1 longed to join my company, to fight 
with the others. Again and again, thinking 
I was bettor, I started off to do it — to find 
out, before I had gone very far, that it was 
impossible. I was glad enough to return to 

Original from 




r J ■ 

the Retreat, not much worse than I started, 
Netta and her mother were very patient. 
Were it not for their assistance more than 
once I should have come to a bad end. Not 
only were German soldiers often passing ; 
there were English soldiery too. Once, in the 
earlv morning, four men of my own company 
came stealing past. 1 almost tried to attract 
their attention by calling out to them, but, 
after all, I considered, what was there to 
gain ? The rain of shells had just commenced 
for the day* They were perhaps on a special 
errand, the success of which might be 
imperilled by delay. There would be nothing 
gained by my calling their attention to the 
fact that 1 was there* 

It was the morning of the sixth day, I was 
finishing . my breakfast, when Netta came 
hurrying in. She had been on one of those 
mysterious missions on which she seemed to 
go each morning. She was nearly all 
mystery to me. I was eating my breakfast 
in the Retreat. 

M How are your feet this morning ? " asked 

" Right as rain," I told her ; " good for 
a ten-mile walk, I am going to report myself 
to-day. They will have reported me as missing, 
A nice state they will be in at home." 

M You can put that right in five minutes 
when you get near a telegraph, or even a 
telephone. I want you to do something before 
you report yourself/ 1 She looked at nx j in a 
ivay which I knew showed that her words had 
a special meaning of their own. Leaning over 
towards me, she lowered her voice as she asked 
me a question. u You say you can walk ten 
jniles. Can you get half-way up the hill and 
back again ? I will give you a hand, but I 
would rather you did without my mother if 

you can manage it. lam starting on an adven- 
ture which I would rather she were kept out of 
if we can do without her." 

The idea nettled me ; I was ready to give 
her my word that 1 w x as good to go a dozen 
times up and clown the hill, without the 
slightest help from anyone* But when it 
came to the scratch I found that I was not 
so clever on my pins as I had supposed. She 
led me by a by-path which kept under cover 
of the trees nearly the w^hole of the way. 
It might have been a little more difficult than 
if we had kept to the open, and a little longer, 
hut certainly that was not the reason why 
I had to stop every fifty yards or so and take 
a rest on anything handy* I was reluctantly 
coming to the conclusion that I should have 
to give up the effort to get up farther when she 
announced that we had gained our journey" s 

" You can streteh yourself on the moss at 
the foot of this tree and rest as long as you 
please. No one passing need see you unless you 
choose if they arc not on a special look-out 
for you. 1 am going to show you something 
which is of particular interest to the Germans, 
but the existence of which is, I daresay, not 
known to fifty men. You are the first English- 
man to whom it has ever been introduced. 
Just look about you. Is there anything in 
sight to cause you to suspect that you are 
within reach of the most dangerous spot in 
Flanders ? " 

I did as she suggested— looked about me. 
1 could see nothing in any way unusual. At 
one point the ground showed signs of une wit- 
ness, amid a clump of young saplings, but 
there was nothing anywhere to attract atten- 
tion from a casual passer-by. I told her so- 
She smiledOriginarfronn 





by Google 

Original from 



" Those Germans/' she said, " are in some 
ways the cleverest devils that ever were. 
You remember that battery you Englishmen 
blew up ? " I remembered it % r ery well ■ I had 
reason to, lt That was farther up. If you 
mount a trifle higher on to that little slope 
you can see the place where it was. Its 
destruction was one of the greatest blows they 
have had. It was meant to be used in more 
ways than one^ and to place the whole country 
at their mercy. When it was destroyed they 
only had one consolation— something which 
was almost as important as the battery itself 
was left untouched. I am going to show you. 
I came on it by accident. It is a way I have, 
when I see German soldiers, to follow them. 
One morning, some days ago, I followed a 
dozen of them to some purpose. Two of them 
came here, the others spread themselves about 
on guard." Approaching the clump of sap- 
lings, she walked right into their midst. 
" With their entrenching tools they moved 
a little heap of broken branches, and scraped 
the ground quite clear. Apparently some sort 
of handle was exposed in the earth at their 
feet. One of them, taking hold of it, gave it 
a shorty sharp pull to one side ; some sort 
of door came away, bringing with it a con- 
siderable portion of earth. It reminded me of 
the pit in which wp keep the stores in our 
Retreat. Something of. the kind had been 
exposed by what the man hud done. He 
lowered himself into a hole four or five feet 
deep. Evidently that gave him access to a 
door which he quite easily opened, and through 
which he vanished* After a second or two the 
other man followed ; the others stayed at 
their posts outside, I had no idea where they 
had gone,, of -what they wctc doing, but it was 
a good Tiour before they reappeared. Not 
five - minutes after their return the whole 
twelve marched away, leaving things exactly 
as they were whea they arrived, so that no one 
would have guessed that a soul had been near 
the place/' 

Kneeling down, she began to take some- 
thing from among the long trailing weeds 
which covered the ground in front of her. 
Presently she held up something in her hand, 

V I have an entrenching tool of my own- T 
felt that I could not bring one up every time 
I wanted to pay a visit to what is down there. 
Are you sufficiently rested to come and sec 
what it is ? " 

I was. Had my fatigue been greater I could 
have managed to do that. With deft hands 
she did as she had described, I leaning against 
a tree and watching while she did it. The 
ground was first of all laid bare ; then an 

ed by Google 

opening some six or eight feet square and 
five or six feet dee£ was exposed. Into this 
she sprang* What looked like a door of some 
sort of metal was in front of her. 

" This door/' she explained, "was a bit of 
a puzzle* I thought I was beaten; I fancy- 
it is made of steel. You see there is a handle 
but no keyhole, The door itself is quite solid* 
You take hold of the handle ; it refuses to 
budge. Now, I had watched the man who was 
the first to enter, I was lying down amon^ 
the bracken just over there where I could 
see quite easily everything he did- I have 
uncommonly good eyes, as you have perhaps 
noticed.' 3 I had ; I had observed that nothing, 
however trivial, seemed to escape her notice. 
"The other man stayed outside. The man 
in the hole stood facing the door like this-" 
She gave me an object -lesson there and 
then, " He had the handle in both hands ; 
most of his weight was on his left foot, which 
was a little behind. His right was well 
forward so that it touched the door at the 
bottom. All at once, with a sort of spring, 
he shifted his weight from the left foot to 
the right, at the same time giving a sideways 
jerk to the handle, just as you might do if 
you were trying to shoot the bolt of a door — 
like this/' 

Even as she spoke she suited her actions to 
her words. The door was open. 

11 As I expected," she continued, " the door 
was worked by a spring bolt, and by the 
greatest luck in the world I had hit upon the 
trick by which the thing was done. You see, 
it is easy enough when you know how, but 
you would never find your way in unless you 
did, except by accident. You see how beauti- 
fully it is kept oiled ? Not a sound when you 
open or shut it- There is a very curious place 
inside here when the door is open. Come and 
see it," 

I did ; my descent was not so easily 
managed as hers. Within was what seemed 
to me to be a sort of cellar. Whether there 
had been a kind of caverif there in the first 
place, or whether it entirely owed its 
presence to man, I could not say ; man had 
made it what it was. The floor and ths 
ceiJing were of brick ; the place seemed as 
dry as a bone. 

** There seems to have been an idea," 
explained Netta, as, stepping inside, she 
surveyed its contents, ll that something 
might happen to the magazine in the battery, 
so that they provided this place where all 
the necessary stores might be replenished — 
they are thoughtful brutes, those Germans ! 
There is pretty nearly every kind of shell 

Original from 



kept in stock down here. But there is 
something else as well as shells. You see 
these ? " She tapped something with the 
toe of her boot. ki These are cylinders. It 
almost looks as if they had prophetic eyes* 
They are full of gas — poison gas. There is 
enough gas here to poison all the country- 
side. They make it on the premises 
also down below." 

" What is down below? " I asked, 

11 You people do not seem to know it, but 
there is a German camp. You go straight 
down — it is not far — and at the bottom you 
turn to the left, and there you are* It is 
within half a mile of the farm, but I believe 
they know no more of us than you do of 
them, although they have been there ever 
since I came home. They have been up to 
something lately, because the number in 
the camp has increased. One thing I can 
tell you they have been planning — to poison 
all the country-side. You see these 
cylinders ? There must be a thousand at 
least. ; Lately they have been bringing 
them up almost daily* You see this thing ? 
I 'suppose it is a sort of reservoir; it is full of 
gas— goodness knows how much it holds ! 
The ground is piped. By turning on taps 
the gas can be sent in all directions, almost 
up to the first trench which you English are 
occupying up at the top. You see this sort 
of switchboard with signs upon it, and the 
little taps— I do not know how they are 
worked^ but they do. One of (hem can 
come, and I believe that by turning certain 
of these little things can suffocate you 
without your having any idea of what is 

While I. listened, thinking what nice chaps 
she made them out to be } she suddenly 
stopped and held up a warning hand, 

1 lie still ! " she whispered. " Here he 
is.' 1 I could hear the sound of approaching 
footsteps j but who the new-comer was, and 
to whom she alluded, I had not a notion. 
Going out into the open air she waited for 
some seconds in silence to allow the approach- 
ing footsteps to come closer. Presently she 
txr. burned, speaking to the owner of the 
footsteps : '-* So, it is you ! You are in 
good time." Then she spoke to me. ts I 
think, Mr/ Briggs T you will find that this is 
a fritnd of yours/' 

Coming out to learn who the new-comer 
was, I was accosted by a voice which I 
certainly did not expect to hear. 

" Why, Sam, old man, you are a surprise- 
par ket ! You're about the last person in 
this world I expected to meet, What is 




the meaning oi this little game ? This young 
lady has ways of her own ; at keeping things 
dark she is a marvel. Why, I only wrote 
to your sister the day before yesterday to 
tell her you were missing." 

11 Naturally," I told him 3 u that is just the 
sort of thing you would do. I wonder you 
did not write and tell my old mother that I 
had been blown to pieces first and poisoned 

Bob Sparrow — it was Bob Sparrow, look- 
ing rather longer and thinner than ever — 
stared as if he were rather under the impres- 
sion that he was suffering from a grievance. 

li You are a nice sort of chap ! Your 
sister kept wondering why it was no one 
heard. What was I to tell her ? " 

u I have been away from the camp six 
days ; my feet have been so had that Fve 
been unable to move on them* Miss Swerts 
and her mother have been so good as to 
give me the hospitality of their house. There 
was not the slightest necessity for you to 
tell my sister anything — I am not in the 
habit of writing to her every day t Confound 
you and my sister, too ! By the way, I 
notice you have got three stripes on your 
arm ; things have been moving with you 
pretty quickly," 

" They have. Our chaps have been 
thinned out fast, We've been doing some 
fighting, I can tell you ! This looks as if 
it were going to be a day off, I have gone 
up three steps inside a week. Now, Sergeant 
Briggs, I'm Sergeant Sparrow, I shouldn't 
wonder, when they find out you're still in 
the land of the living, if they gave you a 

His saying such things made me open my 

'* What nonsense are you talking ? Give 
me a commission ! They have got more 
sense. Look here, Bob Sparrow, how did 
you come to make Miss Swerts *s acquaint- 
ance ? " 

Netta thrust in her oar, I could see that 
my question put Bob rather in a mix, 

" He didn't make my acquaintance ; I 
made his. When I found that he knew you 
I thought of a way in which it seemed that 
you might be of use to each other, I found 
out that the Germans have got everything 
ready; at any time, at a moment's notice, 
they can turn on their accursed gas and 
destroy all you English for I do not know 
how far. They will reconquer this hill— you 
know it was theirs before you took it from 
them. If it is theirs again you will not get 
it back so easily. I ask for your advice as 

Original from 



to the bc:t to be done to prevent their 
carrying out their little scheme. It is a 
matter in which you are better able to 
judge than I am/' 

I. was not so sure of that. I was not 
aware that Bob Sparrow was much of a 
strategist — 1 was sure I wasn't. In the 
circumstances I was quite prepared to admit 
that thn was a matter in which her head 
was . worth our two* I was not, however, 
prepared to. go quite so far as to tell her so 
—but one suggestion I did make, 

\ Don't you think," I asked her T " the 
best thing we could do is to tell the whole 
thing, to the Colonel and take our orders 
from him ? " 

She looked as if she were a little doubtful. 

"There is . only one thing/' she said; 
"sometimes your British officers are a little 
slow. By the time they would do anything 
it might already be too late,' 1 Checking 
herself in what seemed to be the middle of 
a sentence, again she held up a warning hand. 
" Perhaps it is late already. There are some 
Germans coming up the hill," 

That someone was coming was plain. There 
was the tread of heavy feet, which suggested 
the clumsy tramp of the German soldier. 
Quite what happened I do not know. Netta 
sprang out of the pit as lightly as any boy. 
In trying to follow her my feet gave way 
beneath me. I stumbled and fell. Trying to 
recover myself, my ankles simply refused to 
hold me up. Snatching at the door as I came 
down backwards, I dragged it with me t so 
quickly that before I realized what was 
happening I had gone tumbling to the ground, 
and the door, moving on its too well oiled 
hinges, had shut without a sound. I was left, 
I knew not in what position, in pitch darkness. 

I had come down with such suddenness on 
to a heap of what I took to be shells, which 
seemed to scatter in all directions, that it was 
some seconds before I had even a glimmer of 
what had happened. Anything ]ikc the dark- 
ness which surrounded me I never knew, 
I had lost all sense of direction ; whereabouts 
the door was I had no idea. Every movement 
I made seemed to cause havoc to something. 
To crown all, I did not seem to have a match 
in my pocket. There had been no smoking for 
me at the farm lest the smell should liave 
reached a passer-by and roused curiosity as 
to the cause of it. A pretty pickle I was in. 
I believe all would have been up with me had 
not Netta kept her wits. Before I realized how 
desperate my position really was, I l>ecame 
conscious that someone was trying the door 
from without. Suddenly something happened 

Vol. L-34. 

' something happer 

t ,oc>gre 

to it ; it opened, there was a burst of light* 
Netta was standing in the open doorway, with 
the handle in her hand. 

t( Mr, Briggs/' came her voice, " are you 
hurt ? Where are you ? " 

14 That is what 1 can hardly tell you/' I 
replied. "I am somewhere on the ground 
amid a lot of something. I don't feel as if I 
could get up." 

(t That's a pity, because here are a lot of 
those German brutes, who will make short 
work of us if they find us here* Mr, Sparrow, 
come and help Mr. Briggs." 

Sparrow's voice came from without. 

t( I'm afraid there isn't much time. What 
is wanted most is a gun." . .* \ 

" A gun ? There are guns enough in here," 
Going into the cellar — or whatever it was 
calkd— she turned to where a number of 
rifles were in a rack fastened to the wall. She 
handed one to Sparrow, whose figure in the 
open doorw r ay threw the whole place into 
shadow. " You will find that it is loaded," 
She turned to me. " Give me a hand/' I gave 
her one. With a sudden twist she not only 
hauled me to my feet, but practically lifted 
me into the open air. " Lend a hand, Mr, 
Sparrow, Let us get Mr. Briggs among those 
tall grasses. If you are quick, there still may 
be time." 

How they did it I don't know. Presently 
I was peeping out from among a tangled 
growth of greenery, towards where heavy 
steps ascended the hill, growing momentarily 
closer, Netta gave Sparrow no time for con- 

" Quick, Mr. Sparrow, quick ! We may still 
conceal from those Germans that we have so 
recently been here. Don't stand still and 
dream, but help ! " 

Urged by her, Bob Sparrow obeyed, with- 
out, I fancy, quite realizing w r hat he did. The 
door was shut, the entrance to the pit covered, 
the leaves, twigs, and brushwood, which had 
concealed the fact that there was anything 
unusual there, restored as nearly as possible 
to the position in which they recently were. 
The whole performance occupied a sur- 
prisingly short space of time. Presently Netta 
was lying full length amid the tall weeds and 
grasses on my right. Sparrow, directed by her, 
was under cover of a clump of bushes right 
in front, the entrance to the cellar between us. 
She brought a rifle for me and one for herself, 
then issued her instructions. 

4t Do nothing ; do not move. Do not make 
a sound until I fire, then let them have it 
for all you're worth. If we manage properly, 
we might indue? them fro take to their heels. 




Taken by surprise, we might trick them into 
supposing we three are three hundred. I have 
known it done. I do not fancy there art* very 
many of them/' 

There weren't, luckily for us. They came 
into sight just as Sparrow had taken cover* 
So far as I could make out ? there were fourteen* 
Four of them, in charge of an officer, came 
right forward, the remaining ten spread them- 
selves out as if with u view to guarding all the 
approaches and preventing their being taken 
by surprise. The position had a very odd effect 
on me. It seemed that, if they used their eyes, 
they could hardly help seeing us. They were 
all round us* Every moment I expected 
Netta to fire. But all she did when I 
planted her way was to give her head a 
slight shake and lie still. 

The whole business might have ended in 
nothing had it not been for the stumble which 
had landed me backwards on top of that heap 
of shells. The entrance to the cellar was 
exposed again ; the door was opened. The 
moment the man who opened it entered a 
hubbub arose. The conversation took place 
in German, which Netta interpreted in a 

* They have discovered that someone has 
been making free with their hiding-place, that 
it has had a recent visitor. Keep your rifle 
readv ; there is going to be trouble," 

Digitized by L^OOgle 

She was right ; there was. The German 

officer in charge carried on what seemed to 

be a warm discussion with his three com- 

panionsjn tones which were perfectly audible, 

as Netta made clear by 

acting as interpreter. 

" They are not 
ordinary soldiers ; they 
a re c hem is ts i those 
men. They have come 
up here to put the 
finishing touches to the 
mischief which is brew- 
ing there. That man 
with the black mous- 
tache is the leader ; he 
is in charge, He is 
going to telephone to 
someone. Somewhere 
they have been making 
gas ; they are going to 
turn it on and choke 
you English out. Dis- 
covering our visit has 
given them the alarm. 
He is going to do some- 
thing which he takes 
it for granted will 
mean destruction to 
you. If something is 
not done — qu ic kl y — it 
will be too late, V/hat 
shall we do ? See, he is feeling for a te±p, 
or something, which will set the diabolical 
stuff in motion. We can/ at any rate, stop 

The fnan came for a moment to the door 
which gave access to the deadly store-house. 
He had a piper in his hand which he was 
studying. Apparently the contents of the 
paper were not easy to decipher ; he raised 
it to his face, studying it closely ; lowered it ; 
and spoke to the man I presumed was his 
superior officer, as if asking for instructions. 
He was not so audible, but it seemed that 
Netta could still hear. 

41 He says/ 7 she whispered, 1C that in about 
a quarter of an hour he might be able to do 
for the whole lot of you. He wants to know 
if he shall let you have it. The officer says 
yes, so in a quarter of an hour he hopes that 
you will all be dead. We shall see. He will 
be the first to go- afterwards his officer ! 
You find targets amid those fellows in front, 
1 hope that Mr. Sparrow will find his, 
behind. Fire ! " 

Her action came in the same breath as 
her word of command ; she had the barrel 
of her weapon trained upon the man she had 




been interpreting. He stepped back, pre- 
sumably with the intention of carrying out 
his diabolical plan. As ho was in the act 
of turning, his face was full towards us. 
Netta's rifle cracked ; the fellow fell where 
he stood. The officer close to his side 
looked to see whence the shot had come ; 

I was otherwise engaged. I doubt if there 
were half-a-dozen seconds between her shot 
and mine, I aimed at a tall chap whom I had 
an uncomfortable feeling was staring straight 
over at us* If he was, he had no chance of 
proclaiming that we were * discovered. I 
don't think that in this world he ever spoke 


the rifle cracked again ; he toppled on to again. About ten or twelve feet from Lin: 

the mo -ion less figure at his feet. These a colleague was taking the greatest interest 

things I saw as if in spite of myself — actually in what was happening at the entrance tc 




the cellar, leaning on his rifle &s he bent 
forward. At my second shot he went 
crashing forward on to his face, as if the 
support of his weapon had failed him. 
Sparrow was equally fortunate, I did not 
sec at whom he bid aimed, but I was con- 
scious that each of his shots had found the 
mark for which it was intended. 

There was no mistaking the sensation we 
had made. In their surprise the remaining 
Germans seemed to have lost their senses. 
Leaping forward in startled wonder, clearly 
— their attitudes showed it — they had not 
a notion whence the shots had come. I 
;il ways seem to notice that without instruc- 
tions from his superior officer the German 
soldier has no initiative of his own. The 
familiar voice of his officer was still, not an 
order was issued ; the confusion in his 
mind caused by this unnatural state of 
tilings was heightened by the continued 
silence. Before they had a chance to pull 
themselves together— those chaps were pretty 
slow-witted— we fired again. 

I had marked a fellow who was glancing 
about as if he thought his assailants might 
be on all sides. He never learnt where they 
were ; 1 touched the trigger, down he came 
— where he fell there he lay. As regards the 
others, both of their shots had again gone 
home. Netta 's forecast was proved almost 
ludicrously correct, One of the Germans 
had fired ; I am not sure that a second 
didn't. I am sure that he fired blindly into 
space, Then the fellow farthest from where 
I was threw away his rifle and started to run, 
I should not be surprised if he was under the 
impression that the last two shots, coming 
from his own friends, had been fired by fresh 
assailants, and that they were attacked— as 
Net ta had prophesied — by an indefinite 
number of foes, 1 let him run, but both 
Netta and Sparrow tried flying shots. One 
of the shots was a hit ; Sparrow made clear 
whose it was. 

ih My word ! " he exclaimed, speaking as 
if it were now quite clear that all danger was 
past, iV you brought the beggar down. You 
can aim ! It's the first time I ever knew 
that a woman could fire a gun." 

He received then and there further proof 
that she could. Rising to her feet she stood 
looking about her. Some little distance 
in hind us was the prostrate figure of a man. 
Sparrow had brought him down, and from 
the attitude in which he lay, motionless us a 
log, one concluded that he had been killed on 
the spot ; but I noticed, as Netta's glance 
passed on, that the hitherto motionless 

by Google 

figure moved, that the gun, which had seemed 
to be gripped by nerveless lingers, was 
raised. I murmured a warning, 

41 Look out/' I told her, " the fellow is 
going to fire," 

He did, but she was as quick as he was. 
I take it that she was perhaps a shade the 
quicker, because that his shot went wide and 
that hers went home was shown by the fact 
that he never moved again. 

The rest had done my feet good ; unaided 
I crossed with Netta to the German store- 
house, The open doorway was almost 
blocked by the two recumbent figures. 
Springing down, Netta took the crumpled 
paper from the hand of the man who lay 
beneath. As she was smoothing it out there 
came the sound of a low whistle. Sparrow, 
who had joined us, started. He held up his 
handj commanding attention. 

" Listen ! They re here ! " Obviously 
someone was there ; someone, it seemed, 
who was signalling to him ; someone not 
very far from us, who was whistling the first 
bars of " Tipperary." I inquired who the 
whistler was. His reply was a trifle vague, 
14 It's the regiment. I arranged with Mr, 
Chandler that I was to meet this young lady 
here, and that if I didn't turn up at a certain 
time he was to come and bring some of the 
chaps to find out the reason. Look out, Vm 
going to give him a call/ 1 

He did, whistling another bar of Si Tip- 
perary." Presently English soldiers began to 
appear among the trees on the ground above. 
The main body was halted ; three or four 
figures came for ward, among them Mr, Dun-ant. 
At sight of me he appeared to be surprised. 

* s Briggs, is that you ? Glad to see you. 
Where have you been hiding ? " 

I explained— as well as 1 could— in half- 
a-dozen sentences. Netta had her say. 

II They will be back presently, those Ger- 
mans. As there was no pursuit they will con- 
clude that they have been tricked, that there 
is something wrong. Is either of you gentlemen 
a chemist ? " 

Sparrow explained, 

11 Mr. Chandler is a chemist." He addressed 
a lieutenant who was a stranger to me ? a man 
who was somewhere in the thirties, with a 
short moustache turned up at the ends and 
keen black eyes. u This. Mr. Chandler, is 
the young lady of whom I told you, It seems 
that we got here at a lucky moment, that 
they were just going to try to poison us all," 

Netta held out the paper which she had 
taken from the dead man's hand. 

" This seems to be a sort of plan of what 

Original frorm 



the Germans were doing. If ycu will come 
down here, sir, I think I shall be able to give 
you a sort of hint of what it means. You 
speak German ? '■ 

Apparently Mr, Chandler spoke German 
like a native* Going down to Netta's side^ 
holding the paper in his turn, he followed her 
explanations rapidly enough, it seemed, even 
for her, Drawing Mr. Dun-ant to one side, the 
pair held a hurried consultation. Then Durrant 
questioned me, 

" Briggs, do you know anything about this 
young woman ? Is she to be trusted ? " 

I told him that she was to be trusted abso- 
lutely. Then Mr. Chandler spoke. 

" According to this " — he referred to the 
sheet of paper — (t we've hit on a find. We've 
been wondering where they got their supplies 
of gas with which the whole country-side has 
been devastated, and which seemed to be 
getting worse and worse each day* According 
to this young woman, she has hit on the place 
of manufacture. They have laid pipes under- 
ground over miles and miles of country, 
leading in all directions, and all of them 
regulated by a series of taps. I don't quite 
understand her story, but according to her 
we've only just been saved from a horrible 
cata strop he by a stroke of good fortune." 

" And, if you'll excuse my saying so., by 
her presence of mind — and something more. 
She's one of the finest shots with the rifle 
I ever saw. I think you may safely count on 
the correctness of whatever she may say." 

Again there was a brief consultation 
btt we en the two officers. Then Mr. Chandler 
joined forces with Netta, The pair oi them 
entered the cellar, Mr, Chandler listening with 
aH his ears to what Netta had to say. Then he 
called out to us, 

st Mr, Durrant, would you mind stepping in 
here ? I would like to have you as a witness 
to what this young lady has to say. The 
responsibility is rather more than I care to 
undertake alone. Briggs, if your feet will bear 
you, you might come here also." 

My feet were good enough for a job like that, 
Mr. Chandler made it clear that he understood 
all that Netta had said — more, all that she 
had hinted at, 

1 The gas, which is -something novel in 
gases, is being manufactured somewhere 
below ; here it is being stored. These taps act 
on the various pipes which carry it off. 
This is the master tap, acting on all of them 
together. It can be manipulated to send the 
gas in all directions at once* I think it probable 

that it can be made to descend so that it wLl 
affect the men who are making it Li the camp 
below. If that is the case, the would-be 
destroyers can be made to destroy themselves. 
Do you think that I should try ? ** 

1 You simply have to turn a tap ? " 

As Mr. Durrant put this question Mr, 
Chandler was bending over what looked to be 
a network of shining slender metal pipes. 

" Practically that's all; but you understand 
that I have not any very definite data to go 
on. This young lady doesn't claim to have any 
either. The results may not be what I expect." 

Netta interposed. 

" There is always a risk ; in affairs of this 
sort you cannot often have a certainty. But 
then, for some time I have been watching 
what they were doing. The chances are in our 
favour. You may take it that what it says 
upon that plan is correct. By following what 
it says you will not go very far wTotig. 1 ' 

Mr. Chandler referred the point to Mr, 

w You hear. Shall I take the chance ? It may 
not be one that will quickly occur again.' 1 

14 At any moment also/ 1 Netta declared, 
" the Germans may return. All the time I am 
afraid they will return. Then the chance will 
be theirs. Not a second time will they let it 
slip from their fingers." 

" (handler," said Mr. Durrant, u we wont 
let the first chance slip. Let them have all 
the gas thev want." 

" Good," 'agreed Mr, Chandler. " I think 
you're right. To let the beggars poison them- 
selves would be the sort of reprisal which 
would appeal to the German sense of humour. 
Take care, I dont know what the immediate 
consequences will be. It is a game we're 
playing in the dark. But when we have started 
things going, the atmosphere in herCj even 
with the door open, suggests that we should lose 
no time in making for the open air, shutting 
the door, and leaving them to enjoy their own 
gas. Are you ready ? Then out you go + + ' 

And out we went, Quite what Mr. Chandler 
did I cant pretend to sayj but he did some- 
thing with a little brass tap which he singled 
out from among the others. A pungent £ odour 
t>ecame instantly obvious. We made what 
haste we could to where the air seemed to have 
an opportunity of keeping pure. Being on 
the right side of it, Mr, Chandler allowed the 
heavy door to move on its well -oiled hinges. 
Then we stood motionless, as if expecting some 
dreadful convulsion of Nature to follow the 
closing of the door. 

[Read the conclusion of this exciting adventure in the next number*] 
*f\nn! '" Original from 






of P 



many artists in the Comic 
Dog line, but Mdin is 
facile prineeps* I do not 
think I have ever seen so 
much nervous, wolfish 
greediness as AJdin has 
expressed in the sketch 
illustrating the line in the 
diary, M Ate Dinner." One 
feels that there is some 
danger of the plate as 
well as its contents dis- 

And here's another dog 
drawn by Captain Haldane 
Macfall — master of all the 

And here's a happy, 

irresponsible little sketch by 

Phi] May— John Toole } is it, 

in monk's robes ? — jotted 

WAS lookmg through, the other down on the back of a more important drawing, 


day, a little collection of scraps 
of paper — odds and ends from 
f|y artist friends — to which I have 
added from time to time, and F 
felt glad that I had preserved them. Some 

of them > it 
occurs to 
me, may be 
of interest to 
the readers 
of this 

F o r ex- 
ample, above 
are two of 
the original 
sketches for 
the inimit- 
able series 
with which 
Cecil Ald'n 
i 11 u st rated 
mv " A Do£ 
Day"— red 
hot from 
the artist's 
brain t so to 
say. There 
are to - day 

And here's a brilliant rough sketch by 
Raven-Hill for a Punch drawing, illustrating 
a jest I had sent him. 

The invitation from E. T. Reed, of 


w- : 

1 '-Y*-/ 

by Hnldane Mac Ft! I. 

by Google 

by Phil Mat. 

Original from 




TommV (who has passed the Plim-ioll mark) ; " Ma I ' n 

Mother: *" Yes, dear ?** 

Tommy ; " May I go and put on my 
jersey instead of this beastly coat an* 
waistctiiLi ? *' 


I have a good few carica- 
tures of myself— my absurd, 
scarified eyebrows proving, 
no doubt, an irresistible 
attraction to the carica- 
turist, I give two. The one 
was drawn, when I was a 
bearded pard, by Rene Bull 
(the historian will be able 
to date it by the fact that 
it was done at the height 
of the Great Ping - Pong 
Boom). The other is by Sir 
F. C. Gould's clever son, 
A. C. Gould, sketched after 
my beard had disappeared 
in accordance with one of 
the provisions of a certain 
marriage treaty. 

" Prehistoric Peeps" fame, which 
is also reproduced, will not, I 
trust, lead to trouble between him 
and his cook. 

Next, an extract from a letter 
from Arthur Rack ham describing 
his tribulations as a joke-maker. 
The "full-length" is an astonish- 
ingly vivid caricature of himself. 

7 tafc 



yjl^j^ m fa** 

fa+* fa~* ■—/ , -* ^*~7 

m / ^ 



i=r[ &***> ***** *^ 

£J* &U* 


by Google 






And we also 
have a life- 
like portrait^ 
from Starr 
Wood — a 
artist who is 
nearly always 

Next two 
little" notes" 
by Steven 
Spurrier, bet- 
ter known for 
his serious 
work in illus- 
tration. He 
and I are 
special c o n- 
stablcs in the 
same squad. 
To while away 
the dreary 
four hours 
during which 
nothing ever 
happens, he 
and I, at 
times, talk 
Cockney lo- 
gether ? andj to 
make conver- 
sation, I have 
a ficti ti ous 
son ? " Little 'Orace— ead scholard at Saffery 
Line Cahnty Cahncil School — a bloomin' 
little geniass, 'oo used to be a good-lookin* 
little feller till the doctor made ? im wear 
glawsses and ruined ? is aperients," Here we 



have him as 
imagined by 
Spurrier, The 
other drawing is 
an actuality. It 
represents "Old 
Bill/' a pictur- 
esque character 
who, during the 
winter, replen- 
ished the fires in 
our braziers at 
the works that 
we guard. " Old 
Bill/; I would 
mention, had a 
very original 
view as to the 
cause of the 
war. Accord- 
ing to him it 

"LMTLP. 'ORACH, 1 ' 
by Stephen Spurrier. 

"old bill; 

by Stephen Spurrier, 

pen-scratches, from letters, by 
of the younger of our '* comic 

Moral/to Kaisersand , 

others : Don't tear up 
scraps of paper. One 
day you may be ab'e 
to make quite an 
interesting little 
article out of them. 

was all "Old 
Queen Vic- 
t oria's 
fault ." She 
made too 
much fuss of 
the Kaiser 
lichen he tes " 
a boy /'and. 
fair turned 
'is 'eadj and 
that's why 
V s so saucy 
to us now." 
Finally a 
couple of 
happy little 

Ernest Aris, one 

zoologists, JJ 

h\ *«** 



by Erae*t Ari*- 

by Google 

Original from 


T happened in the time of the 
Great War that Mr, Mortimer 
Ludlow became dissatisfied 
with the state of things as 
they were, Ludlow was quite 
a clever character-actor, and 
at the age of forty-three, 
when he had been on the stage twenty years, 
a writer discovered him and assured those of 
us whom it might concern that we should 
hear more of Mr. Ludlow. None the less, 
for three months he had not had a paying 

He had accepted several engagements 
which were not remunerative. He had 
taken part in various charity entertainments 
with the generosity and want of mature 
consideration which are alike characteristic 
of his profession. 

He had indeed causes for dissatisfaction 
amounting to bitterness of spirits. The 
opinion of the world seemed to be that 
Mortimer Ludlow was to help everybody 
else and that nobody was to help Mortimer 
Ludlow, He had been compelled to move 
into worse and cheaper rooms. He had 
spent what little money he had saved, had 
incurred a few debts, and was meditating 
upon the sale for cash of some portions of 
his extensive wardrobe. Even his efforts in 
the cause of charity had not brought him 
that serene happiness which is supposed to 
be associated with the performance of a 

Vol. L-36- 

:ized by Google 

Illustrated by Alfred Leete. 

good action. At some of these entertain- 
ments he had been practically compelled to 
witness — and to applaud— the ghastly work 
of dislocated amateurs. And he had just 
read in his morning paper the police- warning 
that one of these charities (to which he had 
given two days' work and expenses amount- 
ing to fourteen shillings) was an unholy 
fraud. It was very depressing, With a 
sigh he selected the goodly scarf-pin which 
was to be sacrificed., and went out. 

The transaction was soon completed. 
The glad consciousness that he now had 
three ten-shilling notes in his pocket far 
outweighed the fact that he no longer had 
the seven -guinea scarf-pin. He could face 
the world for another day or two. 

He was just facing the world, bravely and 
brightly— the hat is worn rather on the 
hack of the head for this act — when a some- 
what florid gentleman overtook him, clapped 
him on the shoulder, and exclaimed ;— 

" Mortimer, my dear boy ! You're the 
very man I was looking for." 

Now, although the florid gentleman was 
a theatrical agent, Ludlow did not believe 
his every word. Guided by experience, he 
was accustomed to hear his statements and 
then to try to deduce the facts from them. 

He deduced correctly in this instance that 
the agent had not teen looking for himj but 
had happened to see him and had thought 
of the possibility of business. 

The agent, it appeared, had the chance of 
an engagement to offer. No, it was not a 
theatre or a music-hall. And it was not the 
cinematograph. It would probably mean 
regular work for some months. As for the 
salary — well, the money would be all right. 
The best thing would be for Ludlow to see 
Mr. Osman himself at the office at twelve. 

At this point Ludlow made a customary 

Original from 

2 7 4 


proposition, the agent made the usual reply 
that it was dean against all his rules to take 
anything in the morning and the stereo- 
typed result followed* 

In the Bodega, under the mellowing 
influence of sherry, the agent he came almost 
frank. He admitted that he had never seen 
Mr, Osman until the day before, and had 
not the faintest notion what Mr* Osman's 
business was. But Mr. Osman had de- 
manded a good all-round actor, with initia- 
tive and imagination j who had done some 

" And — the money is really all right ? " 
asked Ludlow. 

il All I ean tell you is that he came to my 
office in his own car. Not hired. I know 
the difference , But if we come along now 
you can see far yourself/' 

Ludlow went along accordingly. Mr. 
Osman was absolutely punctual, and two 
other actors to whom the agent had given 
the appointment were late. Ludlow got his 
interview at once, Mr. Osman was an edu- 
cated American j and his accent was not very 
marked, lie was a young man, with a thin, 
clean-sliaven face and a highly intelligent 
eye + He went carefully into Ludlow's record 
and seemed satisfied. 

'* And now/* he said, M I suppose you 
want to know about the work ? " 

Ludlow assented. 

" Well , I'm going to be perfectly candid 
with you, I came to Europe just before the 
war, because I thought I saw an opening. 
The opening was there all right, but the war 
shut it. Since then I have had the idea that 
I might push a side-line of mine. Photo- 
graphy is not my business, but I've been 
very interested in it. I have a photographic 
studio of my own at home, and I have 
become an expert. 1 am starting here as 
' Incidents Photography,' and what I want 
you to do is to pose for the camera in different 
characters yourself, and to think out suitable 
scenes, and to train supers to take part in 
them. You see, this war's a vurry terrible 
thing and vurry absorbing. The public 
wants any amount of pictures of it. I shall 
be able to dispose of my photographs of 
minor incidents of the war to the Press both 
here and in my own country." 

" I don't think I quite see. Will you want 
me to go abroad ? ]l 

" No r sir. The little place I've taken is 
in the neighbourhood of Nuusden, and that 
is where thu incidents will be photographed." 

" I see/' said Ludlow, rather blankly. 
** The incidents are to be faked ? M 

by Google 

u Mr. Ludlow/' said Osman, impressively, 
** I have a vurry strong objection to that word- 
If there were anything dishonest in this 
business, I should not be utilizing my capital 
and brains and energy in it. No, sir ! Hi/re, 
for instance, is an incident of the kind I pro- 
pose to deal with. The scene is the garden 
of one of your magnificent, and at the same 
time poetical, old baronial houses. In the 
background are clipped yews and something 
armorial in stone. In front is a British officer 
in uniform, a well-set-up young fellow, with 
a strong chin and a resolute expression. A 
beautiful young lady in a genu-ine Piiris 
decollty evening dress is handing him goo-goo 
eyes and a sprig of rosemary. Now, that is 
an incident which must inevitably have 
happened, but you bet your life it was 
when the photographer was not there. 
Well, then, I reproduce that incident, em- 
ploying the best talent and the strictest 
attention to details. I photograph the repro- 
duced incident, put underneath it the line, 
1 This for Remembrance/ and sell it to fifty 
periodicals before I have time to turn. 
Nobody's hurt. The public simply eats it, 
and your recruiting is stimulated. And it will 
make a vurry beautiful picture/ 1 

t( You might have had a horse in it/* 
suggested Ludlow. *' The officer could have 
one arm through the reins of his charger/' 

" Well, that's an idea/' said Osman, 
reflectively, (t though for the purposes of 
serious photography horses are bad* Here's 
another subject. Flat country, gleams of 
water and moonlight, large bird hovering ; 
underneath, a dead German soldier lying on 
a low ridge. We could call it i Cantion 
Fodder/ ]J 

(i We might, but we couldn't photograph 
it by moonlight/ 1 

il That is so. But that offers no difficulty to 
the expert, for he can make it look as if it 
were photographed by moonlight. A vurry 
pretty full-plate I could make of that. And 
the public would ask no questions. It is my 
experience that the public sometimes thinks 
and sometimes feels, but that it never does 
both things at the same time, And for tliat 
reason it will be the aim of ' Incidents Photo- 
graphy ' to go straight to the heart. You've 
got to realize! this, In moments of deep feeling 
or of considerable amusement the cerebral 
cortex docs not operate." 

The enterprising Mr, Osman had already 
produced a few samples of the kind of work 
which " Incidents Photography " would bring 
out. He had submitted these to a great number 
of periodicals, and had obtained prospective 

Original from 



and conditional orders. He showed these 
photographs to Ludlow, and Ludlow had to 
admit that as fakes they were very clever, 
while the actual photography was quite first- 
class. There was only one about which he 
had any criticism to offer. 

** The face of the woman who is reading 
the letter from the Front is not at all good/' 
he said, " It's wooden. It shows practically 
no emotion at all," 

* 4 You're quite right/' said Osman ? " but 
I am not showing that one. That happens to 
be absolutely genuine; in fact, it was the 
chance of taking a surreptitious snap-shot of 
it which gave me the whole idea. That's the 
trouble with real life ; it never looks the least 
bit like it. 17 

When Ludlow left the office he had accepted 
an engagement with " Incidents Photo- 
graphy." The salary offered was not large, 
but at the start he would be wanted for only 
five mornings in the week, and would still 
tic able to accept afternoon or evening engage- 
ments* The honesty of the business seemed 
to him to be on the border-line, but he was 
too poor to be hypercritical. 

In the Strand Ludlow encountered that 
charming comedian Herbert Basinghall, and 
had a few words with him. 

M As a matter of fact," said Basinghall, 
airily, * I ought not to linger. I promised 
Waters to look in at his office at twelve, 
Osman, the well-known American manager, 
seems rather keen on getting me, It must be 
about twelve now/* 

" It's ten minutes to one. Did you say 
Osman ? n 

M I did. Why not, my dear boy, why not ? " 

Ludlow explained somewhat apologetically 
what had happened. 

" I see/' said Basinghall, " Waters pro- 
mised that to me definitely and exclusively* 
I shall have a word with him/' 

* He may have forgotten. He does fre- 
quently forget/' 

tb It's a matter of supreme indifference to 
me, Bogus war photography, I think you 
said. Dirty work, my boy, dirty w f ork. 
Personally I wouldn't touch it with a barge- 
pole. If Osman had offered it to me he would 
have remembered this morning to his dying 
day. He would have learned that there were 
one or two things that even an American 
financier cannot buy. Besides, I couldn't 
have taken it in any case* Now I come to 
think of it Fm booked for Colly's new show, 
and it w ? ouId have interfered with rehearsals* 
But that is as It may be. That's not w T hat 
hurts me* M 

Digitized by C-OOQ I C 

" No," said Ludlow, who was acquainted 
with Basing hall's rapid mentality and the 
amazing variety of his moods* 

H No, The prizes of the profession are but J 
few nowadays, I had counted on this, and 
you have wrested it from me — you whom I 
had trusted. Ah, Ludlow ! But no doubt 
you are right, and it's not worth bothering 
about anyhow. Twopenny-halfpenny affair, 
Have a drink ? " 

They had it. Herbert Basinghall drank to 
the prosperity of *' Incidents Photography," 
In his opinion it would bring the realities 
of war home to many people who were at 
present in a fool's paradise. As he had been 
compelled to refuse the work himself , he was 
only too glad that his friend Mortimer Ludlow 
would carry on the torch. But Ludlow was 
letting himself go too cheap, and must get the 
salary put right at once. After all, business 
was business. 


Mortimer Ludlow was interested in his 
new w T ork, and found that it kept him busy. 
He was expected, as Osman frankly stated, 
to do as much as possible with as little as 
possible, Osman appeared to have money 
enough and to be willing to pay promptly 
for what was really necessary, but he per- 
mitted no expenditure that was not necessary. 
Salaries were few., and most of them were 
very low. The astute American also man- 
aged to get quite a good deal of unpaid work 
done for him. He explained his policy. In 
the case of a business that could be built 
up slowly it might be useful to make a loss 
now in order to make a larger profit in a 
year's time. But this was a different kind 
of business altogether. It was a question of 
rush and snatchy and nobody could say when 
the bottom would drop out of it* u So 
we've got to pay right away from the word 
jump — or as near as we can make it. I'm 
not meaning to be left with u loss/' 

Certainly nobody whom he employed 
worked quite as hard as Osman himself. 
With the help of one plain but highly effi- 
cient and intelligent woman, he ran the 
commercial side, including a considerable 
correspondence in three languages. He did 
nearly all the actual photography himself. 
He painted some almost convincing back- 
grounds. He was constantly thinking of 
some new idea, and each one went down in 
his pocket-book. He had time to see any- 
body who might possibly be useful, but had 
a very quick way with disappointments. He 
slept little and seemed to subsist principally 


2 7 6 


on cigarettes and tea, His energy was 
boundless, and sut h work as he produced 
had to be the very best that he could do. 
He would photograph the same scene again 
and again, until he was satisfied with the 
result ; itncl if after that result had been 
obtained some possible improvement occurred 
or were suggested to him he would start 
afresh. f ' Incidents Photography " might 
not — in fart, did not — appeal to every 
periodical, but at any rate it always gave its 
customers strong photographs that would 
reproduce well. 

It is not pretended that Qsman + s judgment 
was invariably correct. One morning when 
Ludlow arrived at the Neasden studio he 
found his employer in a state of suppressed 

" About half-past four this morning," 
said Osman, 4t an idea came to me like a 
knock on a door, It's a cinch. It's abso- 
lutely perfect. And it won't be expensive 
to do, for I shall use my own car and borrow 
the dog, and a background of park-railings 
and trees is easy/' 

" V/ellj what's the idea ? ?T said Ludlow. 

" The title of the picture/' said Osman, 
speaking very slowly and impressively, " is 
* Gallantry in the Park : Our National 
Hero Saves the Life of a Little Dog/ The 
motor-car is approaching at full speed along 
the road* Under the jaws of the car, so to 
speak, is the hero in the act of picking up 
the little dog* In the background w r e have 
a policeman rushing up, and on the side- 
walk the agonized lady who owns the dog. 
I've got that realized. I can see it. All 
you've got to do is to make up like Lord 
Kitchener in full uniform/' 

" If it's all the same to you/' said Ludlow, 
dryly, " Fd sooner make up as the little dog. 
I should look more like it, and it would 
cause less trouble/' 

" You don't want to be nervous, you 
know/' said Osman, " In the finished 
picture the car will appear to Ix? going at 
full speed, but in the first photograph, which 
is where you come in, it will be actually 
standing still/' 

And then Ludlow proceeded to explain. 
He did not touch upon questions of taste or 
even of honesty. But in the course of a 
lengthy argument he did manage to persuade 
Osman that this was a picture that would 
not pay, and would most probably mean the 
absolute ruin of " Incidents Photography/' 
Osman said, bitterly, that this did not seem 
to be a free country, but he relinquished the 

A far better idea of Osman's was the 
picture , which attained a good deal of popu- 
larity, entitled " Daddy Dons the Respira- 
tor/' In this Ludlow had no objection to 
the part he was to take* He impersonated 
a middle- lass father, bald-headed and obese, 
making a surprise entrance into his own 
drawing-room, with the new respirator on. 
Two children are in paroxysms of terror, a 
parlour-maid drops her tray, and older 
members of the family give way to uncon- 
trolled mirth. In pictures like this, where 
many characters were wanted^ Osman relied 

largely on amateur talent and let Ludlow 
knock it into shape, " It's a wonderful 
tiling/' said Osman, " but there are plenty 
of people who like dressing up, like being 
photographed, and like to see their faces in a 
newspaper. Very well, then — why should I 
pay people for doing what they like ? " Nor 
did he. But he knew the uses of the small 
and complimentary gift. The paroxysm ic 
children in 1S Daddy Dons the Respirator ?1 
got their box of chocolate. Pretty gills 
sometimes got as much as sixpennyworth of 
flowers for two mornings* work. And a 
really useful male volunteer would be tcld, 
genially, that he could not be allowed to go 
until he had had a drink, Osman never 
drr.nk with him, but had seven different 

by Google 

Original from 



excuses for this defection, and they were all 

Regarded as a fake, " Aboard the Zeppe- 
lin " was quite clever. Nobody inquired by 
what means this photograph of a portion of 
the hostile airship in mid-air had been 
secured- No carping writer asked how the 
snapshot had been taken at night. Osman 
had found that effect of partial darkness 
helpful. The accuracy of details could not 
be disputed if the details could not be seen. 
In this photograph but two figures were 
visible* There was the man with the 
machine-gun. There was also the German 
skipper (Mortimer Ludlow), lean and alert, 
shading his eyes with one hand — presumably 
to avoid being dazzled by the moonlight. 
The rest was a tangle of ropes , a little canvas, 
and large black shadows, 

" Yes ? " said Osman, " I don't know if it's 
at aU right, and the betting's against it, but 
it looks absolutely right 3 and that's the only 
thing that matters, A vurry pleasing and 
impressive, picture, I call that. Even you 
can't .be ^spotted, Ludlow, The shadow over 
the faCe/saves you," 

" How do you mean ? " said Ludlow. 

*' Well, :f or daylight photography you could 
never manage to look in the least like a 
German," 1 , 

Now, sa'farj Ludlow, had not included in 
his :sGCEet: ambitions the slightest desire to 
look like $l German- He may even, in his 
insular selfc- sat is faction, have been rather 
pleased that he did not- look like a German. 
But Osman 's innocent remark wounded Lud- 
low's professional pride. He understood the 
art of make-up thoroughly. In the last few 
weeks he had learned the difference between 
making up for the camera and making up 
for the footlights. His own face, clean-shaven, 
mobile, with no very pronounced features, 
was easy to disguise. He could make himself 
look like Falstaff or Hamlet or Juliet, or 
ii hole in a wall. There was practically no 
limit. To be told that he could not become 
a convincing Bosch was almost an insult. 

" Well, Osman," he said, "I've got an idea 
for a picture in which I represent a German. 
If you like the idea, we'll try it. And if I don't 
look like a German in it, I'll admit that 
I don't know my business/' 

Osman heard and approved of the idea, 
and a few days later a successful photograph 
Mas made. It was called " Arrested." A sub- 
title said it was " An incident of the spy peril 
in -our midst." In an attic -with a sloping roof 
a German spy sat at a table on which were 
spread maps, plans, and a note-book ; also 

Digitized byj^OOglC 


i i '""tv 

1 1 





T ■ 

1 ,■> 1 


" .IllKKSTilD." 




the relics of a characteristically German supper. 
The spy was a round-laced man with a heavy 
moustache and horn spectacles. Unsuspect- 
ing, he filled the china bowl of his pipe. Stand- 
ing in the doorway, a special constable covered 
him with an automatic pistil. If you were 
hypercritical, you might wonder how the man 
with the camera happened to be there just 
at that moment. Otherwise it was a picture 
of compelling reality. A Hun who had been 
born and brought up in the business could 
not possibly have looked more like the pre- 
valent idea of a German spy than Mortimer 
Ludlow did. 

It was just after taking the photograph 
that Osrnan, who paid few compliments, 
congratulated Ludlow on the impersonation. 

(N That's the best piece of character vou've 

H Ah ! " said Ludlow. M But I was told I 
couldn't look like a German/ 7 

" Wdl, you don t want to fret about that ; 
you can. You look so much like one that 
you wouldn't be able to travel home like it. 
I'll lay you a sovereign on it.' T 

" And Fll take you/' said Ludlow, promptly, 

" Just as you are, mind — with those 
incriminating documents and that pipe-stem 
sticking out of your pocket/ 1 

M Just as I am — certainly/' 

" And if you get taken to a police-station ? " 
said Osman. 

vi Then, of course, I lose. I should not have 
got home/' 

** That satisfies me," said Osman, u If 
I lose I lose five dollars. But if I win, that's 
five dollars for me and a hundred-dollar 
advertisement for ' Incidents Photography/ 
Yes T it's quite a bet/' 

It was seldom that Osman did anything 
so unbusinesslike as to make a bet, but 
thut day he had made two good contracts 
and was consequently exhilarated. Already 
" Incidents Photography Tf promised so well 
that a further extension of the business and 
further expense seemed justified. Ludlow, 
as the head of what may by courtesy be called 
the dramatic side of the venture, had been 
instructed to engage another actor, while 
Osman himself was relegating more of the 
photographic work to two capable assistants. 
More was being spent on properties. The lady 
who hustled the typewriter in three different 
languages, and also understood book-keeping, 
wore upon her plain but int lligent coun- 
tenance a look of satisfaction which may have 
been indicative of an increased salary. 
Undoubtedly, " Incidents Photography'^ was 
making good. 

igilized by C-GOglC 

Ludlow was not in the least anxious about 
his bet. It was, he knew, our national habit 
not -to interfere with strangers unless they 
obviously interfered with us. So long as he 
took his ticket — for in that disguise he did not 
mean to use his season — and paid for it in the 
usual manner, entered the railway carriage 
without treading on toes, produced an English 
newspaper, and spoke to nobody, he was sure 
that nobody would molest him. Possibly some 
fellow-traveller would remark afterwards in 
the privacy of his home that he had seen a 
chap in the train who looked uncommonly 
like a German, but it would not go beyond 

And in the train from Neasden so far as the 
Finchley Road station it did not go beyond 
that. But at Finchley Road, by some perverse 
whim of destiny, Mr. Horace Fettibrew and 
Mr, Arthur Goode entered the carriage and 
seated themselves opposite to Ludlow. 

You know the name of Horace Fettibrew, 
of course- You must have seen it at the foot 
of irfany letters to the editors of many papers* 
Before the war you learned his views on 
militant suffragettes, daylight saving, " What 
Ulster means/' and the flannelette peril. 
But the war marked him at once as the most 
ardent, not to say the most excitable, patriot 
that the country had produced. Debarred by 
age, eyesight, varicocele, and circumference 
from actually doing -anything for his country, 
he could still think and write ; at any rate 
he could write. He wrote more than ever. 
He discovered the obvious at great length. 
He put his finger on the peril in our midst, 
on the canker at the nation's heart, at least 
once a week. Never before had he been so 
fervent, so foaming, so futile, 

Arthur Goode was Horace Pettibrew's 
brother-in-law, and held him in high esteem. 
He lielieved that Horace was possessed of 
sources of information that were denied to 
ordinary beings. He went out for a walk with 
Horace every Sunday. He cut out all Horace's 
letters to the Press, and pasted them into 
a scrap-book. He was a humble follower after 
Horace, Apart from this characteristic, he 
was a pravej grey man^ and suffered from 

These were the two men who sat opposite 
to Ludlow, They noticed Ludlow* They 
exchanged pregnant remarks about him in 
an undertone. And Ludlow observed their 
observations ? and the devil of humour 
entered into him. These men suspected 
him, and it would be a joyous thing to make 
them suspect a little more. 

He pulled out his maps and plans and 




consulted them with ostentatious attempts 
at concealment. He displayed the aggres- 
sive German tobacco-pipe. Asked, with 
studied carelessness, by Horace, if he could 
oblige with a match, he replied with an 
accent so German that it should have received 
the Iron Cross, He inquired if the train 
went to Laker Street, and left it w r ith hurry 

through Regent's Park, And ? incidentally, 
he was going to win a sovereign, 

And then — the bugle of the Boy Scouts 
caused him to look over his shoulder— he 
saw close behind him the two imbeciles 
whom he had encountered in the train. 
They man bed side by side. Their look of 
portentous determination would have been 




and agitation at St. John's Wood. In fact, 
Ludlow took liberties and brought trouble 
upon himself. 

He emerged from the station at St, John's 
Wood quite pleased with himself. He had 
had a little joke at the expense of the two 
imbeciles who had sat opposite to him in the 
train, and he was now going to walk home 

by Google 

excessive in the Light Brigade at the moment 
of their historic charge. Ludlow began to 

Of course, it might have been merely a 
coincidence that these two men had got out 
at the same station as he had and were now 
taking the same route. But Ludlow did not 
think it was a coincidence* These men were 

Original from 



obviously trying to look as much like sleuth- 
hounds as an ordinary modern costume, 
coupled with certain physical disabilities, 
would permit. They had the well-marked 
ikuth-expressioiu Probably they would just 
fellow him home, and in that case no harm 
would be done* But it was conceivable 
that they might appeal to a policeman, and 
Ludlow had stage properties in his pocket 
which, though perfectly innocent, might 
seem suspicious and a subject for inquiry to 
the ordinary policeman. Of course, five 
minutes at the police-station would establish 
his identity, explain everything , and set him 
free again,. But five minutes at a police- 
station would not only lose him his bet but 
would imperil his reputation with Osman 
for infallible judgment, and he had built up 
that reputation with some care. lie cursed 
his folly in playing up to these two men ; 
he had meant to fool them and to enjoy, in 
imagination, the wild stories they would tell, 
but he had never meant to spur them to 
action. And now the silly asses were acting. 
Yes, clearly they were acting. While 
Arthur Goode, gaunt and grey, still guarded 
the rear, Horace Petti brew came lolloping 
past the supposed spy at a majestic trot. 
There were suggestions about him of a 
steiim -engine with too large a boiler and an 

Digitized by Lit 

imperfect valve. His objective was a park- 
keeper some fifty yards ahead. Somewhat 
excitedly he requested the park-keeper to 
seize Hen* Ludlow and detain him until 
reinforcements could be brought up. 

The park-keeper smiled pleasantly, but 
shook his head. For if he were to arrest 
everybody in Regent's Park who looked like 
a German, he would not only be acting 
ultra vires and likewise contra pacem and to 
the scandal of the Government, but he 
would also have to work overtime. Briefly, 
lie said as much. He was, it is to be feared, 
not without a suspicion that our eminent 
littiraieur had looked upon the wine when it 
was red. 

The park- keeper resumed his occupation 
of watching the peacock, and Horace Petti - 
brew fell hick upon \\u main body, to, 
Arthur Goode. Ludlow observed the failure 
of tliis first effort with relief. Wisdom sug- 
gested that he should now turn back and 
explain all in his best English to the two 
amateur detectives. But this did not seem 
to be a very sporting thing to do ; wisdom 
is rarely very sporting. And an alternative 
had suggested itself. His observations on 
the contour of Horace Pettibrew had led him 
to believe that this gentleman was not con- 
structed either for ^peed or for endurance 





Arthur Goodi\ 

Neither did Horace's elderly collabvrateur 
suggest the athlete. Ludlow now had the 
open park before him. Why should he not 
make a dash for It ? 

He started off at a good pace. 
Petti brew pursued. Also ran 
Ludlow could feel the earth shake behind 
him. He could hear the breathing of Horace 
Petti brew — breathing of so pronounced a 
character that it gave adjacent nursemaids 
an erroneous impression that the lions were 
being fed. Arthur Goodc, in a high and 
plaintive voice, called: " Stop that man! 
Stop him ! Stop him ! " And general 
interest was being excited, rather too much 
uf it for a man of Ludlow's modest disposition. 

But the roadway was near, and in the 
road there would be a taxi, and the taxi 
would mean salvation, Ludlow turned 
sharply down a path to the left and found 
himself confronted by a special constable 
with arms outsf 

Vol. L-33- 


Ludlow stopped at once. " I say/' he 
said, without any trace of a German accent, 
" these two silly men will keep following me 
about. I haven't a notion what they want. 
I wish you'd deal w p ith them/' 

11 They were culling to me to stop you/* 
said the special. " I shall hear their story 
directly. Meanwhile., I'll just take your 
name and address." 

Horace Petti brew had fallen back some 
distance, having had trouble with his car- 
buretter. But Arthur Goode arrived, gasp- 
ing, with faint querulousncss : *' German 
spy — plan of Woolwich in his pocket- 
most dangerous — handcuff or shoot at 
once ! " 

And then Mortimer Ludlow had reason to 
bless that wise dispensation whirh ordains 
that special constables shall hunt in couples. 
For there now arrived upon the scene a 
second special, with a copper badge in his 



and this second " special " elianced to be 
that charming comedian^ Herbert Rasing- 

lias ingh all recognized Ludlow at once, 
criticized his make-up unfavourably, and 
proceeded to take command* A grocer's 
boy, with siphons in a basket, was dis- 
patched to tell that fat man to hurry up a 
little, Arthur Goode was asked questions 
and told to hold his tongue simultaneously, 
Horace Pettibrew, on his arrival, closely 
guarded by the errand-boy, found that the 
tide had turned against him. 

Basinghall gave an excellent performance. 
Here was a professional gentleman of the 
highest possible standing, a personal friend 
of Mr. Herbert Basing hall t being annoyed 
and chivied about in a public park simply 
because a couple of ignorant fools chose to 
think they were detectives. There were 
other and better ways in which they might 
serve their country. (Here Mr* Horace 
Pettibrew was told to wait till he was spoken 
to.) Mr. Ludlow had his legal remedy, of 
course, and it would be for him to say if he 
would avail himself of it, " In the mean- 
time., sir "—this to Mr. Arthur Goode — " you 
and your fat friend there will give me your 
correct names and addresses, and I tell you, 
frankly, that an eye will he kept on you, 
Hold your tongue, sir. And let me warn 
you against any further interference with 
peaceable British subjects. You won't get 
off as easily again. Now, then, clear out, 
unless you want me to take you to the 
station. Don't answer back. You heard 
mv orders. Not that way. Get outside the 

Messrs, Pettibrew and Goode retired, and 
noted with sorrow that the feeling of the 
small crowd which hud gathered was all 
against them, 

iA Old enough to know better, I should 
say/* was the expressed opinion of one char- 
woman who was taking the air with her 
offspring. ,; Two thorough blackguards, as 
you could see by their faces. You let that 
be a lesson to you, Willy." 

Natu rally, Horace, when he reached home, 
wrote a scathing letter to the Press on the 
subject of special constables, in which he 
called them jacks-in-office and other wicked 

names. And it would have been some com- 
fort to him if the letter had been published* 
But it betrayed animus, and the editor 
happened to be a special constable himself, 
and there was a pressure of news. So the 
opinions of H, Pettibrew on this subject 
still remain unreported. 

Later that evening Special Constable 
Basinghall dined with Ludlow at an unpre- 
tentious restaurant j and afterwards reviewed 
the situation. 

i£ I don't want to be bitter, my dear boy," 
said Basinghall, iL but Fate shows us some 
strange reversals, A few months ago you 
snatched the bread out of my mouth. Of 
course, I'm not blaming you, and quite under- 
stand how it liappened, but the fact remains 
that you did take from me the work which 
— well, it was dear to my heart, it was the 
summit of my ambitions. To-day comes my 
turn, and 1 rescue you from bandits — from 
two men who, but for my inter vent ion 7 would 
have blackmailed you to your dying day* 
I know the type. And meantime I starve. 
Figuratively speaking, of course. Capital 
dinner this, and all that, but still " 

41 Looking for work, eh ? " 

" I do not hide it. I am," 

" Well j I've got a job to offer you at our 
place — * Incidents Photography/ you know 
— but that wouldn't be worth your while/' 

4( Tell me ? my dear boy, tell me. But let 
mc give you one word of warning. You 
know my price — forty pounds a week, 
Don't offer it. In war-time I take twenty- 
five and will not take more. We, must all 
lung together. These are not days for high 

" This is only for five mornings a week. 
It's three pounds a week to start^ rising to 

Basinghall took a tooth-pick and medi- 
tated. * E These details don't interest me," 
he said, finally. " Anything or nothings I 
should be only too proud to work for 
( Incidents Photography, 1 The salary is of 
no importance." 

4 Then that's al! right/' said Ludlow, 
cordially, and they shook hands on it. 

i£ Of course," said Basinghall, " if you 
could get the old man to make it guineas— 
but, however " 

by Google 

Original from 

^Bi rcb 

Sy Jamc© Buckland 

Beeoimiea! by Charles TRoTbiini^oilL 

Number, Fecundity, and Voracity of Intectc* 

[AN Imagines himself to be 
the dominant power on the 
earth. He is nothing of 
the sort- The true lords 
of the universe are the 
insects. While it is true 
that man has invented and 
perfected so many de- 
structive agencies that he has attained to a 
predominance over the most fierce and power- 
ful mammals and the most deadly reptiles, 
it is also true that in face of an attack of 
insects lie and all his works are set at naught. 
Few people know how enormous is the 
number of insect species or how amazinp is 
their power of multiplication* The number 
of insect species is greater by far than that 
of the species of all other living creatures 
combined. Over three hundred thousand 
have been described, and it is considered not 
improbable that twice that number remain 
to be described. Practically al [ living 
animals, as well as most plants, furnish food 
for these incomputable hordes. 

The fecundity of certain insect forms is 
astounding, the numbers bred reaching such 

prodigious proportions as to be almost beyond 
belief, Riley once computed that the hop 
aphis, developing thirteen generations in a 
single year, would, if unchecked to the end 
of the twelfth generation, have multiplied to 
the inconceivable number of ten sext ill ions 
of individuals. Noting the preceding, For- 
bush says if this brood were marshalled in 
line, ten to the inch, it would extend to a 
point so sunk in the profundity of space that 
light from the head of the procession travelling 
at the rate of one hundred and eighty-four 
thousand miles per second would require 
two thousand five hundred years in which to 
Teach the earth. 

Kirkland has computed that one pair of 
gipsy moths, if unchecked, would produce 
enough progeny in eight years to destroy all 
the foliage in the United States. 

A Canadian entomologist states that a 
single pair of potato bugs, or Colorado 
beetles, as we call them, would, without 
check, increase in one season to sixty million. 
At this rate of multiplication the disappear- 
ance of the potato plant would not be long 
delayed. Those of vou who have been in 



flight which filled the air and hid the sun. 
What a potency for evil lies hidden in the tiny 
but innumerable eggs of these ravening pests ! 
If every egg were permitted to hutch and every 
young locust to come to maturity, the conse- 
quences would be too dreadful to contemplate, 
The voracity of insects is almost as 
astounding as their power of reproduction. 
The daily ration in leaves of a caterpillar is 
equal to twice its own weight. If a horse 
were to feed at the same rate, he would have 
to eat a ton of hay every twenty- four hours. 
For bush says that a certain flesh- fee ding 
larva will consume in twenty-four hours two 
hundred times its original weight, a parallel 
to which, in the human race, would be an 
infant consuming, in the first day of its 
existence, one thousand five hundred pounds 
of beef ! 

Million of the Bird in Organic Nature. 

Who or what is it that prevents these 
ravening hordes from overrunning the earth 
and consuming the food-supply of all ? It 
is not man, Man, by the use of mechanically 
applied poisons, which are expensive, unnatu- 
ral, and dangerous, is able to repel to an 
extent the attacks on his orchard and 
garden. Out in the fields and in the forests 
he becomes, before any very great irruption 
of insects j a panic-stricken fugitive. Neither 
is it disease j or the weather, or animals, or 
fungi t or parasitic and predacious insects 
within their own ranks. However large 
may be the share of these particular natural 
agencies in keeping insects in 1 heck, experi- 
ence has shown that it is lamentably insuffi- 
cient* Then what is it ? The bird. Bird- 
life, by reason of its predominating insect 
diet, is the most indispensable balancing 
force in Nature- Yet man has been en- 
gaged in the past half -century in the 
blind and wanton destruction of this 
essential part of Natures great plan. He 
has taken no thought of the needs of the 
hour, nor concerned himself with the wants 
and claims of those to come, Within the 
space of a few years, under no constraint of 
necessity, he has carried out a policy of 
destruction more effective than that accom- 
plished in centuries by the slow processes of 
Nature, It is not for man to -say what shall 
live and what shall be destroyed, In the 
great struggle for existence each living 
organism is constantly striving to increase 



its numbers, while the similar efforts of 
other organisms by which it is surrounded, 
and which feed on it, operate continually to 
check its undue multiplication. Any serious 
disturbance of this action and reaction of 
natural forces is always fraught with serious 
consequences. As man destroys the insect- 
eating birds j the insects on which they feed ? 
being left without check, become too numer- 
ous, and consume the food supply of all. 
This fact agriculture has learned to its cost 
in many parts of the world. 

Serioui Consequence* of Bird Destruction, 

Some years ago the agriculturists of 
Hungary, moved to the insane step by 
ignorance and prejudice, succeeded in getting 
the sparrow doomed to destruction. Within 
five years the country was overrun with 
insects, and these same men were crying 
frantically for the bird to be given hack to 
them, lest they should perish. The sparrow 
was brought back, and, driving out the 
hordes of devastating insects, proved the 
salvation of the country. 

During the year 1861 the harvests of 
France gave an unusually poor return, and 
a commission was appointed at the instance 
of the Minister of Agriculture to investigate 
the cause of the deficiency. I5y this com- 
mission the deficiency was attributed to the 
ravages of insects which it was the function 
of certain birds to check. These birds, it 
appeared, had been shot, snared T and trapped 
throughout the country in such numbers 
that but little repressive influence had been 
exerted upon the insects* It was concluded 
that by no other agency than the birds 
could the ravages of insects be kept down, 
and the commission called for prompt and 
energetic remedies to prevent the destruction 
of wild-bird life. 

For some years prior to 1877 vast numbers 
of red- winged blackbirds were poisoned in 
the spring and autumn around the cornfields 
of Nebraska. This was done in the belief 
ill, it the blackbirds were damaging the crops, 
especially the wheat. Great numbers of 
prairie chicken, quail, plover, and various 
other insect -eating species were destroyed at 
the same time by eating the poisoned grain. 
Then came 1877, and with it Nemesis, The 
locusts appeared in countless numbers. 
There were no birds to eat them, and 
Nebraska mourned. 

Original from 




Though I rould give a hundred cases 
similar to the foregoing, I must rely on the 
few here cited to show that the wholesale 
destruction of birds is surely followed by 
disaster to man, 

Value of the Bird in Checking Insect Irruption*. 

When the Mormons first settled in Utah 
their crops were destroyed utterly by myriads 
of black crickets that streamed down from 
the mountains. Promising fields of wheat in 
the morning were by evening as bare as 
though the land had not been sown. The 
first year's crop having been destroyed, the 
Mormons had sowed seed the second year, 
and again the crop promised well. Bat 
again the crickets appeared, devouring every 
blade of wheat , and the followers of Joseph 
Smith were on the verge of starvation. At 
this juncture Franklin's gull came by 
hundreds of thousands, and, feeding greedily 
on the crickets , freed the fields of the pest. 
The settlers at Salt Lake regarded the advent 
of the gulls as a heaven-sent miracle, and 
practically canonized the birds. 

Since that hour this black-headed gull has 
remained a faithful servitor of the farmers 
of Utah, To show a befitting and seemly 
sense of gratitude for its inestimable services 
in guarding the State from the ravages of 
insects, a monument to this bird has been 
erected in Salt Lake City* 

It is a common practice with all settlers 
in a new country to at once set about killing 
the native birds in a thoughtless and foolhardy 
way. This stupid practice is all the more 
deplorable, because an enormous increase of 
insect pests invariably attends the operations 
of the pioneer agriculturist. Finding in 
cultivated crops new and more succulent 
sourcesof food supply insects change their 
primitive habits to swarm and multiply 
exceedingly upon the fertile fields of man's 

When the farmers in New Zealand began 
to break the virgin soil on an extensive scale, 
a certain caterpillar, which hitherto had 
gleaned a somewhat meagre sustenance from 
the scanty native verdure of the open lands , 
disappeared from its old haunts and attacked 
the cultivated areas. So speedily did it 
increase by reason of a more favourable 
environment that it soon became a blasting 
plague. It came not singly, nor even in 
battalions, but in mighty armies which laid 

waste the land. I have seen these atoms 
cover the pastures in such numbers as to 
make the green one brown. I have seen 
countless millions of them pass out of one 
cornfield, having stripped every stalk bare, 
cross the road in solid phalanx, and pass 
into another. I have seen big mobs of 
sheep mustered in hot haste and driven to 
and fro over these serried ranks that they 
might crush them with their scurrying feet, 
I have seen every" horse -roller in a district 
brought up hurriedly, like steam-engines to 
a fire, and drawn backwards and forwards 
over the crawling masses until the cylinders 
stuck fast in a mire of squashed insects, I 
have seen huge ditches dug in an attempt to 
stop the invaders' progress. The effort was 
as futile as that of a child who builds a bank 
of sand by the sea, thinking it will stem 
the oncoming tide. Even railway-trains 
were brought to a standstill, the wheels of 
the engines being unable to grip the rails 
owing to the hordes of caterpillars which 
were crossing the line, 

In time it became abundantly clear that 
if this disastrous condition of affairs con- 
tinued it would be useless to attempt to 
carry on agriculture in New Zealand. 
Realizing fc that any attempt which they 
might make to rid the smitten land of the 
plague would be but a mockery, the farmers 
turned their eyes longingly to the natural 
enemy of the caterpillar — the bird. But the 
native birds- — though they had lived in 
closest companionship with the Maoris — had 
been taught the treachery of the white man 
in a school that reeked with blood, and those 
that had not l>een killed had retreated from 
the vicinity of the settlements, visiting the 
insect-ridden fields occasionally only, 

Wherefore insectivorous birds from the old 
country were introduced, and the one that 
multiplied most rapidly was the common 
house -sparrow. And Passer domesticus soon 
cut short the career of the caterpillars. 

As digestion is exceedingly rapid in birds, 
and as they feed for the most part through- 
out the day, they are peculiarly adapted for 
the suppression of abnormal outbreaks oi 
vegetable as well as of animal life. 

That formidable imported weed, the Scotch 
thistle, threatened at one time to overrun 
the whole of New Zealand. Much time and 
money was spent by the settlers in cutting 
off the plami clo^ft3ll|he ground, and in 




pouring turpentine upon ihe 
split stumps, hoping thereby to 
kill the roots. Vain labour* 
The wind -driven clouds of 
thistle-down, which were plant- 
ing the weed far and wide, grew 
yearly denser and more frequent. 
At length the fields became a 
packed growth of prickly plants, 
which nothing could face. The 
sparrows took to eating the seed. 
In tens of thousands they fed 
on it, giving it the preference 
of all other hard food, and the 
weed was conquered. 

To-day in New Zealand the 
sparrow is looked upon as an 
impudent thief without a re 
deeming feature in its character. 
No one j, of course, can say what 
would happen if the bird was 
dismissed from the country, 
though it is probable that the 
Dominion would be again over- 
run with caterpillars and 

Parenthetically I may mention 
that, though I have written here 
in defence of the introduction 
of the European sparrow into 
New Zealand, I am not an 
advocate of acclimatization. It 
is true that one can point to 
cases where a foreign bird has 
been introduced to perform the 
function of a native species that 
has been driven out, and where 
that function has been performed satisfac- 
torily. But, as a rule, such substitutions 
are fraugh: with danger. Birds so rapidly 
change their habits in new surroundings that 
few species remain loyal to the reputation 
for honesty which they enjoyed in the land 
of their origin. Like most aliens, it would 
have been better had they remained in their 
own country. 

The moml of this is that it behoves every 
man who has the welfare of his country at 
heart to do all in his power to foster native 

In Australia a plague of grasshoppers 
periodically visits the fields to devour the 
crops. The ruin they vould otherwise bring 
on the farmer is averted by the good offices 
of ibises and other native birds. As a 
destroyer of grasshoppers, the straw-necked 
ibis (Carphibis spimctdlts) has no equal 
among birds. Dudley Le Souef, the director 
of the Melbourne Zoological Gardens, some 

by GoO^lc 


years ago visited a rookery of 
this bird in the Riverina, and, 
after a careful estimate, came 
to the conclusion that the 
minimum number of birds 
breeding there was two hundred 
thousand. He procured a num- 
ber of specimens and ascertained 
by actual counting that the 
contents of an average crop of 
an adult bird were two thousand 
four hundred and ten young 
grasshoppers, five fresh- water 
snails, and several caterpillars, 
which, multiplied by two hun- 
dred thousand, amounts to a 
total of four hundred and 
eighty -two million and odd 
gras shoppers, as well as vast 
numbers of caterpillars and 
snails, " Then, again/ f says 
Mr. Le Souef, " the average 
number of young is about two 
and one-half to each pair of 
parent birds, and the contents 
of their stomachs must reach 
an enormous total, as they all 
seemed gorged with food/' 

As this enormous amount of 
food is being eaten every day 
by ibises in Australia during the 
hatching-time of the grass- 
hoppers, some little idea can be 
formed of the immense utility 
these birds are to the farmer. 

In addition to its great value 
as a dest rover of all -devouring 
insects, the straw-necked ibis feeds with 
avidity on the fresh- water snail— the host 
of the dreaded liver-fluke, which sheep so 
easily get in certain damp localities. 

Again, were it not for the locust-birds, 
whose habitat is influenced by the presence 
or absence of locusts, there are many locali- 
ties in United South Africa in which agri- 
culture would perish* 

The Value of Bird* in Foreat*. 

Omitting all mention of many another 
notable instance of the quelling of insect 
outbreaks by birds, I will pass at once to 
the consideration of those perennial services 
w T hich act as a constant check on the undue 
increase of insects, rodents, weeds, and 
Other pcsts + 

Birds attain their greatest usefulness in 
the forests, because the conditions there 
closely approach the primeval. 

Forest trees have their natural insect foes, 

Original from 

The value of birds to man. 


to which they give food and 
shelter, and these insects, in 
turn, have their natural enemies 
among the birds, to which the 
tree also gives food and shelter. 
Hence it follows that the exis- 
tence of each one of these forms 
of life is dependent upon the 
existence of the others, 

Consider for a moment the 
life of a tree in connection 
with the insects that prey 
upon it. At the very beginning, 
before the seed or nut has 
germinated, it may be entered 
by a grub which desVoys it. 
Should, however, the seed or 
nut be permitted to grow, the 
roots of the seedling may be 
attacked by beetles. Escaping 
this danger, a worm lays its 
eggs in the cracks of the bark. 
On hatching, the worm or borer 
perforates a hole in the stem. 
This hole, admitting water from 
every passing shower, causes a 
decay in the wood to commence, 
from which the tree may 
never recover Other borers 
feed upon the bark, eating jhe 
soft inner layer and the sap. 
The twigs are affected by the 
larvae of certain beetles, which 
act as girdlers, sometimes des- 
troying limbs over an inch 
in diameter. Weevils bore 
under the bark and into the 
pith, making excavations in 
which the eggs are laid. For 
the same purpose the cicada 
makes a terrible wound t which 
often proves fatal. The limbs 
of trees are affected by aphides, which 
puncture them and feed upon their juices, 
exhausting the sap. Many species of plant- 
lice and scale-insects infest trees, doing 
great damage, while over a hundred different 
species of gall-flies are parasitic upon them. 

It is difficult to perceive the usefulness of 
these insects which feed on the different 
parts of the tree, though they may, perhaps, 
when in normal numbers, exert a useful 
influence by a healthful and necessary 
pruning* It is certain, however, that if 
they were not in turn preyed upon by birds 
they would so increase in numbers that the 
tree could not survive the injuries they 
would inflict. 

How dependent trees are on birds for their 

existence may he gathered from 
the following illustration : As 
many of you probably know, 
trees breathe through their 
leaves. Consequently, if the 
buds of the leaves are pre- 
vented from developing, or are 
eaten, when developed, by 
caterpillars, the tree is 
weakened. Many coniferous 
trees will die if stripped of 
their foliage for one year. 
Deciduous trees, if deprived of 
their respiratory organs for 
several years in succession, will 
also perish, though these trees 
linger, as a rule, for two or 
even three years before finally 

Woodpeckers or other birds 
of similar feeding habits would 
have flown to the rescue of the 
tree and possibly saved its life ; 
but when that corrective in- 
fluence is missing, the tree must 

This illustration of the de- 
pendence of the tree on the 
bird and of the bird on the 
tree is, of course, but one of 
a long series that could be 
cited, and it is because of this 
most delicate adjustment be- 
tween the tree, the insect, and 
the bird that I regard as pro- 
foundly true Frank M. Chap- 
man's statement " that it can 
be clearly demonstrated that 
if we should lose our birds 
we should also lose our 
forests, 3 ' 

The Value of the Bird in the Orchard. 

For man's purposes the work of the bird 
in the orchard is not so thorough as that 
done by them in the forest. Birds are thfc 
slaves of Nature, and, in the main, Nature's 
endeavours are put forth only to produce 
such fruits as will insure the perpetuity of 
each species of tree. With man the case 
is altogether different. His main object is 
not the propagation of trees, but the pro- 
duction of a giant gooseberry. Moreover, 
by introducing arsenical spraying, tarred and 
greased bands, and other devices to counter 
act the evil action of insects, he has^ to a 
certain extent, taken upon himself the office 
of the bird Oriqinalfrom 

But *cffl#AifcWfiSiiV the poorcr 



class of fruit-growers if they were deprived 
of the services of the bird is best seen in 
what happened to Frederick the Great. 
This worthy, in a fit of passion because a 
flock of sparrows had pecked at some of his 
cherries , ordered every small bird that could 
be searched out to be instantly killed. 
Within two years his cherry-trees, though 
bare of fruit, were weighed down with a 
splendid crop of caterpillars. 

The Service* of the Bird in the Garden, 

The garden is the insert's paradise. It 
fares sumptuously every day on the most 
succulent of vegetable foods. Every oppor- 
tunity is thus offered for its increase. Th^ 
greatest insect enemy of the gardener is a 
small, dull - coloured, hairless caterpillar 
known as the cut- worm, which is the larva 
of a Noctuid moth. This chief of the 
brigand band of garden pests usually hides 
during the day beneath matted ^rass or 
under the loose soil along the rows of plants. 
It comus forth at dusk to feed. The bird is 
abroad at the first peep of day, and it finds 
the robber worm in the morning before it 
has retreated to its place of concealment. 

But the early bird has to come stealthily 
to the garden to catch the worm. Its visits 
are regarded by man with more than sus- 
picion, and it is fortunate if it escapes with 
its life. In consequence it snaps up a cater- 
pillar and is off again, leaving thousands it 
would have eaten, if unmolested, to run 
riot amongst t he v e g e t a b 1 e s . 

Occasionally a bird more 
bold than its fellows will 
visit the garden in 
broad daylight to 
dig the cut- 

his peas, and next morning is up betimes* 
He sees the bird running along a row of 
peas, stopping frequently to peck at some- 
thing on the ground. There is a loud 
explosion, followed by a puff of smoke. The 
smoke slowly drifts away, to disclose a bird 
lying dead. 

Mark the sequel, One fine morning the 
gardener issues proudly forth to cut his 
mammoth cabbage— the one with which he 
intends to put to utter confusion all other 
competitors at the local vegetable and flower 
show. Alas for human hopes, and the depre- 
dations of caterpillars ! The cabbage is 
riddled like a colander. 

The gardener when he shot the bird 
forgot, if , indeed , he ever knew, that the 
ancient law forbade a muzzle to the ox that 
thrashed out the corn. 

Utility of Birds in the Meadow, 

Each season, until hay-making commences, 
the grass offers cover and shelter for the 
nests of such birds as breed on the 
ground. The fields alno -provide 
food for birds, and for the in- 
sects on which birds 
feed. Thus there is 
established a 


of their hiding-places. Nature never having 
begrudged it the reward of its toil, the bird 
takes a few peas before leaving. 
'The gardener notices the damage done to 

by Google 


tion and 
dence be- 
tween the 
bird^nd its food and 
shelter — that is to say, the 
insects and the grass. This simulates 
f^j the condition of the earth before man 

made discord in the grand harmony 
of Nature's laws. 

Where the birds of the field are 
undisturbed they tend to hold the 
grass-insects in check. On the other 
hand, when the numbers of birds 
in the field are for any reason in- 
sufficient, the insects increase. 

Without the aid of birds grass 
could not be grown. The grub of a 
single species of beetle, if unchecked 
in its multiplication, could destroy all the 
roots in our meadows; or any one of the 
several spedes of cut- worms, if its repro- 
duction were not restrained by birds, might 
Original from 



l>c Sufficient to destroy all the verdure above 

Hawk* and Owl*. 

The injury to trees, crops, and grass by 

insects is not the onlv evil that threatens 


man as a sequence to the destruction of birds. 
Rapacious birds hold a chief place among the 
forces which are appointed to hold in check 
small rodents, which breed rapidly, and 
unless kejit within bounds arc exceedingly 
dest rucl i ve. Yet, not wit hstanding 
the unanimous testimony of care- 
ful students of birds and 
their food habits to the 
effect that almost 
all hawks and 
owls arc 

dice st ill 
againsc them- 
are siain as relentlessly as 
if they were enem"es instead of friends of the 

The destructive habits of the small 
rodents, which are the natural prey of hawks 
and owls, are much the same all the world 
round. They do an incalculable amount of 
damage to standing com, to corn in the 
st 00k or when stacked, to grain, to root 
crops when growing or when piled on the 
ground or stored in pits, to orchards and 
forest trees, to the roots of clover and other 
grasses, to ground-growing fruit, and to 
gardens f both flower and vegetable* In 
addition to this list of crimes, certain rodents 
are active agents in carrying and disseminat- 
ing the germs of plague and other diseases. 

Here in England — though, on account of 
their small size and secretive habits, they 
are often undiseerned by man's dull eyes— 
they swarm in such numbers in the fields 
and hedgerows that the damage they do 
must prove a steady drain on the resources 
of the farmer. 

The number of small rodents eaten by the 
rapacious birds is almost as remarkable in 
proportion to their size as i^ the 
number of insects eaten by 
small i n s e cti vorous 
birds. During the 
1890 a 

of barn- 
owls occu" 
pied a lower 
in a building. After 
their departure there were 
found in the regurgitated pel- 
lets, with which the floor was 
strewn, four hundred and fifty-four 
skulls of small rodents. 

The young of hawks and owls remain a 
long time in the nest, and require a great 
quantity of food. During this period the 
resources of the parents must be taxed 
excessively in the effort to satisfy the hunger- 
cravings of their offspring, and St is not to 
be wondered at if some individuals are forced 
occasionally to snap up a chicken. But 
what is the worth of the chicken, or of the 
young pheasant , occasionally taken, com- 
pared with the hundreds of thousands of 
pounds" worth of damage that is wrought in 
the orchards and fields by rodents that 
hawks and owls, had they been spared, 
would have fed upon for the maintenance of 
their species ? 

Kaffirs say , 4i He who kills a hawk must 

be put to death," 


The Economic Value of the White Herpfi. 

The destruction of the white heron for its 
scapular plumes has robbed half the world of 
a bird which is most useful to man. It 
never touches grain, but feeds solely near 
water and over damp ground, the breeding- 
places of innumerable batrachians, small 
crustaceans, and pestiferous insects, all of 
which directly or indirectly injuriously affect 
crops in the neighbourhood. The presence 
of the white heron in the rice-fields, for 

VoL I -37. 

lilized byCiOOyjl 1 

Original from 



instance, is distinctly inncfieial to the 
farmer, and rice is one of the most exten- 
sively-grown crops of India and of China. 

In his report on Egypt for the year 191 2 
Lord Kitchener stated that the indiscriminate 
destruction of bird life had allowed an 
enormous increase of insect pests, steps for 
the corn hating of which were to he taken. 
Lord Kitchener knew that in spite of the 
improved methods of fighting inserts there 
was only one step that he could take which 
would he effective. A Khedivial decree was 
issued forbidding the catching or killing of, 
or taking the eggs of, Egypt's insectivorous 
birds. In issuing this decree the fact was 
not lost sight of that in the valley of the 
NJc the egret is one of Nature's checks on 
ihc fot ton-worm. 

Another fact not to be lost sight of is 
that recently a large sum of money was 
granted by the British Government for the 
purpose of experimenting in cotton-growing 
in the Soudan. If the present-day slaughter 
of the egret in this region is permitted to 
continue the experiment can end only in 

White herons consume many flies, as well 
as the larvae of insects in water. This fact 
is well known to those who have watched 
the habits of oxen and buffalo in Asia or 
Egypt. There the smaller white herons— 
the paddy birds of India- — -live with the oxen 
or the buffaloes, and pick the flies or the 
ticks from their bodies. 

The late George Grcnfell noted once on the 
Congo how a dying white heron, which he 
had shot and put into his canoe, roused 
itself , even on the approach of death, to 
snap at the tsetse flies which were settling 
on bis boatman's legs. 

Wine of Birds to Live Slock, 

The injury done to domestic animals by 
biting and parasitic insects is very great. 
Herds of cattle are often stampeded by these 
tormenting creatures, which carry disease 
and death among them, Another great 
affliction is the warble, which is a small 
tumour produced by the larva of the gadfly 
on the backs of cattle, and the constant 
irritation of wh ch causes cons dcrablc depre- 
ciation in the value of hides, bes'des a 
lessened quantity and poorer quality of beef. 

Horses, sheep, and other farm an'mals are 
subject to the attacks of s'rn lar parasites 
and other persecuting insect foes- 

If it were not for the services the bird 
renders in alighting on an'mals in search cf 
these parasites, or in catching the flies on 

- ^ 

the wing or in eat- 
ing them in the 
embryo state, man 
would be unable to 
keep his live stock, 

More than this, 
man himself would 
be unable to inhabit 
many places on the 
eaith which he now 
cultivates, or where 
he carries on other 
lucrative industries. 

Game Birds at Weed 

weeds serve a useful 
purpose in Nature, 
but that purpose is 
not the occupation 
of cultivated land. 
Without check thev 
woad speedily choke 
all grain to death. 

Constant use of 
harrows and hoes 
will do much on 
farm lands and in 
gardenstokeep down 
weeds, but as most 
earth is full of wtcd 
seed, which retains 
its vitality for years, 
the life of the" tiller 
of the sol is one 
continuous struggle 
against these 
troublesome plant s + 
In this battle the 
bird is of great 
assistance, for the 
number of weed 
seeds eaten by birds 
on cultivated land 
must be beyond any 
assignable quantity. 

(ianu birds g\ m r- 
ally are the greatest 
caters of weed seeds. 
They are also useful 
to man in several 
other ways* Not. 
only do they devour 
mature locusts, but 
they scratch up and 
eat the eggs. They 
also consume in large 
quantities tennites 




<~ ~^> 

- - 



f.nd other equally pernicious insects- The reckless 
shooting of \iamc birds is to be deprecated. They 
are oi far more ir;c alive than in swelling the 
Ixig of the sportsman. 

The quail is perhaps the greatest weed-destroyer 
of all the game birds. It is doubtful, indeed, if the 
quail is not more useful to man than any other bird. 
It is very nearly wholly beneficial. During spring 
and summer it feeds on many of the most destructive 
of insects, and in autumn and winter it eats an enor- 
mous amount of seeds of many harmful weeds. 

There is therefore— now that Great Britain J\as 
harnessed Old Nile— a plain economic reason for 
revolt against the present-day practice of catching 
Egyptian quail and shipping them abroad in 
hundreds of thousands to please the palate of the 

The Bird a* & Scavenger. 

The fishing population of these islands has declared 
war on the gulls, and is demanding the withdrawal 
of certain species from the list of protected birds, 
on account of the damage they are alleged to do 
to the fishing industry. People who believe fisher- 
men's tales are apt to be duped and led into 
r epeated errors. The gull is a surface feeder. It 
may occasionally levy toll on useful fish, but to 
say that it does any appreciable injury to the 
fishing business is absurd. 

On the other hand, the presence of the gull is 
essential to man's health. While the bird fulfils 
many useful minor offices — such as destroying larva; 
inland along the seaboard and in eating enemies 
of fish that are exposed during low tide— its chief 
function in the economy of Nature is that of scaven- 
ger of the harbours and of the littoral, just as 
vultures are the scavengers of the mainland. The 
wholesale destruction of gulls for their plumage in 
Yucatan was followed by a great increase of human 
mortality among the inhabitants of the coast, which 
mortality was irrefutably due to the loss of the 
birds that had kept the harbours and bays free 
from the decaying matter which the sea is constantly 
casting ashore. 

I wonder if these men who wish the gull destroyed 
ever give a thought to what would happen to their 
own smelling villages if this bird was not present 
to eat the refuse they throw about ? Or, again, if 
they ever reflect on that feeling of relief they 
experience when in thick weather they hear, through 
the fog, the clamour of these feathered bell-buoys, 
warning them that they are nearing rock or bar ? 

The /Esthetic and Sentimental Value of Bird*. 

Omitting all mention of various other material 
benefits which birds confer on man, I will, before 
conclud'ng, notice briefly their aesthetic and senti- 
mental values, Original from 

Bird life is lite aMfrrftta iCfflfrt,ta» in which Nature 



has done more in the 
mental benefactions on 
other of her works. 

way of bestowing 
mun than in any 
Unconsciously received, 
yet born of it, 
I h e r e is a 
spiritual teach- 
ing, an uplift- 
ing influence, in 
the study of 
birds wh i ■ Is 

To turn frem the palette to the pen, what 
poet is there who has not been inspired by 
birds ? From the background of my 
mtmory a thousand instances of such 
inspiration come leaping forth. Shelley, 
Coleridge, and Longfellow, to mention three 
only of our singers, have been each rendered 
immortal in virtue of the power exerted on 
their minds by the bird* * To a Skylark/' 
"The Ancient Mariner," and "The" Birds 


tends to make a man act more constantly 
from principle, which tends to give a new 
and a more wholesome tone to his whole 

The companionship of birds affords a 
happiness as pure, perhaps, and as perma- 
nently exquisite as man in his present state 
of being can possibly enjoy. Never came 
purer joy into my life than when, rising at 
dawn from my couch of fern. I heard the 
approach of the coming day heralded by a 
chorus of glad bird voices. Never have I 
experienced emotions which have so lastingly 
impressed my mind as when, in the inex- 
pressible mystery of the darkened forest, 
with the stars drifting over, I listened to the 
sublime notes of some feathered psalmist, 
itself in night invisible. 

The world itself is but an outline sketch ; 
it is the birds which fill in the details and 
complete the picture. Towered vapours of 
the summer firmament hang on the wall of 
the sky against a setting of immutable blue ; 
the trees are motionless ; the glassy waters 
of the lake too idle to curve and break upon 
the shore. Nothing speaks of life or action. 
Suddenly , hitherto unseen in leafy tracery, 
a bird rushes out and up into the air, telling 
the sunshine all its joy. One can almost 
hear the mechanism start. The world begins 
to live and move. What artist is there who 
does not know this ? Even when painting 
either of the two most majestic scenes on 
the earth — the ocean or the Himalayas— he 
adds this stimulating power to his canvas. 

of Killtngworth " are poems that are 

The birds of paradise ! While the world 
lasts no man will ever rise up to create 
aught so exquisite. Their beauty is supreme 

supreme in capricious graces of form, 
linked with capricious graces of colour, which 
simply captivate the whole spirit, and lead 
it to adoration, 

Such works as these were not made for 
vulgar desecration ; yet no family of birds 
whose plumage is used in millinery is being 
hurried out of existence with greater speed 
than the birds of paradise. 

The Mexicans felt the poetry when they 
looked upon the humming-birds as emblems 
of the soul ; as the Greeks regarded the 
butterfly^ and held that the spirits of their 
warriors who had died in the defence of 
their religion were transformed into these 
exquisite creatures in the mansion of the sun. 

Earth holds no joy to the eye more sweet 
than the sight of one of these living gems as 
it flits to and fro with the shrillest vibriu^n 
of swiftly-beating wings, hovers for an 
instant in the shade of a pendulous blossom, 
shoots out again into the sunshine, darts 
away after an insect y wheels round and 
round in sheer exuberance of spirit, returns 

to sip ^iftrJEW*;«rf hen ***** ^ 



again, glittering with all the colours of the pnsm, 
into its home in the air. 

Was all this beauty for no purpose but for the 
gratification of a passing fashion ? Is man consti- 
tutionally unable to realiz: that in the beauty of 
these feathered jewels there is a value greater than 
the value that is entered in a ledger ? Children 
gather flowers of the field, and, presently, 
their fleeting fancy sated, toss them 
aside to wither and die. But 
the seeds f the roots, 
remain* The daisy 
will bloom 



year ; the 

cowslip will 

stain the meadows 

yellow as of yore ; but these blossoms of 

the air will never bloom again. Once gone, 

they are gone for ever. 


Birds unquestionably are one of man's 
most valuable possessions, yet it is just the 
possession on which he sets the least value. 

Wherever there are birds whose plumage 
is suitable for millinery, there will the cruel 
and rapacious agents of the feat her -dealers 
be found engaged in orgies of wasteful destruc- 
tion. Wherever there are speciesthat have been 
harried by man to the brink of extinct ion, 
there will be the collector also, anxious to 
obtain the last lingering representatives of a 
race before his rival gets a chance to do so. 
Wherever there are birds whose eggs are 
valuable, there hurries the egg-coilector to 
destroy, not only the embryonic life, but 
often the mature life as well by shooting the 
bird that laid the egg, Wherever in the wild 
places of the earth there are birds which are 
considered to be " good sport/ 7 there saunters 
that vandal of creation, the hunter of means 
and leisure, to expend on the most beautiful 
and the most harmless works of Nature his 
instinctive desire to kilh 

It is the nature of infamies, as well as of 

disease, whose progress is 
not checked 3 to daily grow 
worse ; and if the present-day waste- 
ful and depraved practice of denuding 
the world of one of its most valuable natural 
resources is not checked ? there will be wrought 
a mischief , a universal disaster, more awful 
in its results than words can express. 



I fCustrated by 

ONT forget. Daphne ! 
o'clock to-morrow ! " 

"All right, Rosie. I'll 
come ! " 

Rose Faulkner handed her 
golf-bag to her fvanci ; he 
took it and slung it upon his 
shoulder ; side by side they began to hurry 
across the Heath in the direction of the 
Shooters Hill Road, Daphne Moore and her 
companion walked more slowly towards 
Montpelier Hill. The sun — the wan, adven- 
turing, morning sun of February — came out 
to light their lares, which were flushed with 
exercise, yet not with exercise a lone. The man's 
chee ks ■ — t houg h w i n d - tan ne d thoroughly 
— burned bright in two places. The girl's 
temples, pale ordinarily, were crimson ; and 
her lips quivered, although they were closely 

Neither of them spoke for a minute or two. 
The same thought was in the heait of each. 
The man, less schooled to hide his feelings, 
had to put them into words, 

*' Is it about her wedding ? Is that why 
she wants you to go round ? " 

" Yes ; it's her trousseau— a^nd the presents. 
I sent her one last week ! " 

" You never told mc ! " 

" No ; I— I forgot ! " 

The girl stopped. The man — Dennis Orel 
— answered nothing, though he knew that she 
had not spoken the truth. Her omission to' 
tell him of Rose Faulkner's imminent wedding 
had been deliberate, intentional ; due to a 

Four single 

single cause. She had wanted to spare him 
worry ; to save him needless pain. 

It was not until they were going down the 
hill into Blackheath Village that he showed 
her that he understood, 

" Everybody else. Daphne ! J ' he said ; 
bitterly. il Always another pair than us. 
They only got engaged six months ago. It 
makes me feel horribly bad ! " 

4t Why should it ? " Daphne shifted the 
iron club which she carried from right hand 
to left hand and put her free arm within his. 
" I can wait, I'm very happy. I can see 
you every day ! " 

11 Yes ; but it's your people, Daphne — 
after that business last year," 

" That's all over — for ever. I told them 
I was going to stick to you. They won't 
make trouble any more*" 

The man was silent. They walked on 
farther. Then, impelled by that extreme 
sensitiveness which is twin brother to a 
stainkss conscience, he had to speak again. 

1C Daphne," he said, jerkily. I done want 
you to be too sanguine— I don't want to raise 
your spirits without reason, I shouldn't 
have said anything — at present — if we hadn't 
met those lucky two. But I can't help 
telling you that it's just possible that some- 
thing may happen to help me to make money 

" Dennis ! Much money ? " 

" Enough, with what I've saved already, 
to buv a practice almost at once ! " 



Dennis Ord hesitated. They were in Lee 
Terrace now, outside her father s house ; she 
stood looking up at him with blue eyes which 
her sports coat matched so wonderfully ; 
hands in pockets, head raised and slightly 
sideways ; strands of red hair, in which that 
sun of February was sparkling faintly, peep- 
ing truant and rebellious from beneath her 
knitted cap. It was not easy to say " No ' to 
a woman as fair as she. 

But Dennis steeled himself. He had the 
instinct for thoroughness in all things ; he 
had not yet himself the knowledge that he 
needed ; and this was not time or place. 
And, for all that they had taen engaged three 
years and that they saw each other daily, 
he took and held her hand 

" I can't tell you, dear, immediately ; you 
must wait four or five hours. Come and see 
me across the way when lunch is over, I have 
no appointments between two and half-past,'' 

11 Very well. But, Dennis, why not tell 
me now? rt 

" No, Daphne. I must get back to break- 
fast at once." 

He swung round quickly, turned again, 
waved his hand, turned finally, and began 
to run — on his toes, for he was in the pink of 
condition — hack along Lee Park and down 
the hill into the village once more. He 
pulled up at the station, entered, went up to 
the bookstall and addressed the clerk in 

" Has that Telegraph come, please ? " 

" Yes, sir." 

The man produced the newspaper, Dennis 
put down a coin. The man shook his head 
and smiled, 

" No, sir — not a penny. Five shillings, if 
you please ! " 

" Five shillings ! " 

M Yes, sir ; a shilling for every year," 

Dennis, to whom, because of Daphne and 
the future, every halfpenny was of impor- 
tance, frowned and found the roins. Then, 
Telegraph in h&ndj he began to hurry up the 
hill towards his rooms in Groates' Place. 
On the way he opened the paper, changed 
his mind, thrust it into one of his big pockets, 
and again started to run. It was after eight 
already j he and Daphne had dallied talking 
to Rose Faulkner §nd her future husband 
who, like themselves, had been playing golf 
on the Heath before breakfast, as was the 
habit in their special set. He reached his 
rooms, changed hurriedly , went into his 
sitting-room, poured out some tea, tore open 
the paper, propped it against the sugar- 
basin f and began to read. Ten minutes later 

he turned to eggs and bacon ; they were cold, 
but he swallowed them down. He helped 
himself to bread and marmalade and began 
to read again, forgetting what was on his 
plate. When next he glanced up, the clock 
on the mantelpiece told him it was a quarter 
to nine. He pulled out some nail-scissors, 
cut out three columns, folded them, thrust 
them into his pocket-book, and hurried out, 
down through the village and up the hill 
beyond. The house of the dentist to whom 
he was assistant was in Lee Terrace, exactly 
opposite to the house where Daphne lived. 
Indeed, she and Dennis had first come to 
know each other intimately through meeting 
in the road each day. 

He let himself in with a latch-key and went 
straight to his surgery ; it was light, agree^ 
able, airy ; only the lower portions of the 
windows were blinded, and the sun lay in 
patches on the floor. Dennis filled the 
electric kettle, put in the wall-plug, then set 
his finger on the bell-button, giving three 
distinct rings. 

The mechanic entered, clad in a white 
linen coat. 

** Good morning, sir/ 1 he said. 

Dennis looked at him. Not without an 
effort he repressed a tremble in his voice. 

" You've repaired the thing I asked for ? " 

" Yes, sir," The man handed over a 
small piece of vulcanite. H It isn't often 
we see one of these," 

" No " — Dennis looked anywhere but at his 
interlocutor — " not in this class of practice, 
at least. It's for a new patent. He was 
here for the first time the other day." 

The mechanic nodded comprehending "ly 
and returned to his workshop, Dennis 
washed his hands, went to his cabinet, took 
out probes and mouth-mirror, and put them 
on the swing bracket-table beside the opera- 
ting chair, Nine struck as he finished. The 
maid entered the room. 

4< Mr. Gardner, sir," she said. 

tk Send him in ! " 

" Yes, sir," 

The maid departed, and returned again, 
ushering the patient in. He was a man 
of singular aspect, about forty years of 

He was of middle height, quick, well-built, 
nervous ; his face had the hatchet contour 
of the North American Indian ; his mouth 
was a mixture of obvious sensitiveness and 
potential harshness ; he gave the impression 
of having once had immense vitality which 
had degenerated into great nervousness, and 

his ^^^^jf^P^ V* lloT which 



told of very poor health. He wore a double- 
breasted suit of a cut so old as to have become 
the latest fashion, and the material of it was 
a blue-and-white-striped flannel, such as is 
now seldom seen. He brought with him— as 
on the occasion of his first visit — a definite 
sickly scent. It was the odour of napthaline- 
— which told that the clothes which he was 
wearing had long l>een folded away. 

The heart of Dennis Ord began to bump 
furiously ; yet as but now, in the presence 
of the mechanic^ he managtd to control his 

" Good morning/' lie said, "professionally^ 
" We have repaired your plate fur you, I 
am going to fit it now/' 

The patient climbed into the operating 
chair. Dennis glanced at the angle of his 

" How is that ? " he asked. (£ Yes, I 
thought so; a little farther back/' 

He lowered the head-rest suitably. Then 
he began to fix in the man's mou.h that 
small piece of vulcanite which the mechanic 

had brought him ? and which had no teeth 
attached- And he worked with mouth* 
mirror and probe, 

il Is it quite comfortable ? " he asked. 

M Perfectly, thank you. You seem to hav? 
made a very good job/' 

Dennis nodded. He made a movement iq 
put down his instruments, then stopped, 

" Would you like me to have a look at the 
rest of your mouth?" he asked, "There 
muv be some teeth which need attention as 

" Thank you. I have been travelling for 
some time, and am always very busy ; so 
that I have had no leisure to have them looked 
at for several vears." 

Dennis began his examination. Presently 
he paused* 

11 The teeth are in very good condition, 
considering/* he said, ** Two of them require 
filling, I will prepare them now/' 

He began. When it became necessary to 
use the drill, be loweied the he^d-rest still 
more. It was then that something which he 

Bfgifc/ UK K1*:AN. 'NiKHArS 1 JIAD JIBiTlill^^^^]|^^^ T1 Av 



hatl already noticed Iwrame more apparent 
than before, 

11 Have you been suffering from sore throat 
lately ? " he asked, 

' Yes* IVe tried all sorts of remedies, 
but none of thsm seems anj use. I think I 
must be run down/' 

Dennis glanced at htm curiously. Over 
and above the interest — the enormous in- 
terest—which the man had ex< ited in him ; 
beyond, too, the tremendous issues of that 
interest, his medical instincts were aroused. 
Apart from the ir famed throat , he had only 
to look at the nervous hands^ the earthy 

Bft&ttftGUkHOOD. WHO** I*0 ¥UU RECOMMEND ? * n 

pallor of the complexion, and the tired, blood- 
shot eyes with the pouched hags beneath 
them, to see that the man was more than 
ordinarily ill. 

" Yes ; you don't seem vary fit/' he 
answered. " You are certainly somewhat 
run down ! " 

The patient waited until the first tooth was 
prepared for filling ; then, as he sipped the 
warm water from the stand beside him, he 
looked up and spoke again* 

" Yes/' he began. " Perhaps I kad better 
see a doctor. I am a stranger to this neigh- 
bourhood. Whom do you recommend ? " 

Dennis started. For a few seconds he 
stood hesitant ; in his heart he was cursing 
his own indiscretion ; why had he trespassed 
beyond the straight path of dentistry; 
what foolish impulse had led him to comment 
upon the man's health ? To send him to a 
dot tor at this moment might ruin everything. 
But he could not, in common decency, refuse, 

"Dr. Hoi lis, in the Lee Road, is as 
good as anyone," he answered. " He was 
at Guy's in my time, and he took exceptionally 
good degrees*" 

11 Thank you. And at what time shall I 
find him at home ? " 

" Between two and three, for certain. 
And in the evenings, usually ; and in the 
mornings from nine till ten/' 

The patient lay back again. 'Dennis 
finished his task. The man rinsed his mouth 
and rose. 

" And what day shall I come again ? " he 

Dennis shivered- He had no doubts now 
about what was going to happen when the 
next appointment was kept. Hut he thought 
of Daphne and himself and their future., and 
his sensitiveness passed away. 

* l Today is Tuesday/' he answered, " To- 
morrow ? I am busy in the morning. I 
can give you three-thirty in the afternoon/* 

"Thank you. That will do very well 

The patient descended from the operating 
chair and walked doorwards, but Dennis, 
moving quickly, managed to interpose. 
Instinctively — the idea was too swift for 
tli ought almost — he pointed at a picture on 
the wall. It was a piece of sentimentality 
in keeping with his employer's taste* 

" What do you think of that engraving ? " 
he asked, quickly. tL Mr. Kenyon bought it 
only the other day/* 

The patient glanced at "it. Then he 
shrugged his should* re anid turned his tired 

e >' esu mteiiMlfflVERSITY 



iX Ohj it's all right," lie said, contemptu- 
ously. " It's good enough, of its kind ! " 

He passed out without further comment ; 
the door closed upon him ; Dennis hurried 
across to his dssk. He sat down, drew out 
his pocket -book, took the cutting from the 
Telegraph, found certain marked paragraphs, 
and read them through again and again, The 
maid announced another patient ; he told 
her to keep the lady waiting for a while ; 
he felt, for the immediate moment, too upset t 
too excited, too happy, to he steady enough 
to work. For now he was absolutely certain ; 
he had no longer a shadow of doubt. He had 
no qualms whatever ; he was going to do 
what he ought to do, and to be rewarded when 
it was done. And he felt that he could tell 
Daphne everything at two that afternoon. 

He rang the bell, sent for the patient, and 
worked all the morning with a glad and 
singing heart. He lunched with his employer, 
made an excuse to leave the table early, and 
hurried hack to his own room. He stood at 
the window, watching for Daphne ; he saw 
her cross the road. Her hands were in the 
pockets of her sports coat. She wore no 
hat, and, as in the morning, the sun shone 
feebly upon her hair, which seemed brighter 
than the sun itself, 

Dennis ran out and greeted her, crooked 
his arm within her arm and led her into his 
room. She turned to him as he shut the 

" Well/' she asked, eagerlv, " what is it ? " 

" Vict or v ! " 

" Victory ? " 

ki Yes f we shall be married within three 
months, A stroke of good luck and a good 
memory have made things possible all at 

Daphne stared at him in wonderment. He 
smiled triumphantly, took out the cutting 
from the Telegraph and thrust it into her hand* 
She began to read, Presently she looked up. 

14 What does it mean ? * J she asked. *' I'm 
afraid I don't understand. What has this 
murder got to do with you and me ? '' 

Dennis laughed. He took her arm gently 
and made her sit down on the couch on which 
so many people under anesthetics had lain. 

" I will tell you " he said. And he walked 
over to the hearth-rug and Mood with his 
back to the fire. 

" live years ago — it was in my last term 
at the hospital — this murder happened ; as 
you would have seen if you had finished read- 
ing the cutting, it was of no ordinary kind, 
A certain rising painter, named Hastings, in 
a wild fit of jealousy stabbed his wife with 

a palette-knife; it made a great sensation 
because the man^ who had already begun to 
be talked about as an artist, managed utterly 
to disappear. And the wife's relations— \ hey 
are rich people — in addition to the po lice- 
re ward, offered a special reward of two 
hundred pounds. They renew it yearly 
by advertisement in the Times 7 agony 
column on the anniversary of their daughter's 

Dennis paused. He could see that Daphne 
was just beginning to understand. 

" As I say, this happened in my last term 
at the hospital, and the painter's successful 
disappearance was a common topic of talk. 
He was believed to have escaped upon some 
foreign sailing vessel, for he had been a keen 
yachts man j and wore a naval beard and 
moustache. Indeed^ though no doubt he 
shaved immediately after the murder, it is 
as resembling a naval officer that he is 
described. He had one salient peculiarity— 
it was made the subject of a lecture to us at 
Guy's- This was, as the cutting explains to 
you, a cleft palate," 

iL A cleft palate ? " 

" Yes. It exists when the maxillary bones 
in the upper part of the mouth are not 
properly joined togethe 1 * at birth, and it is 
a condition fairly often to be found amongst 
the poorer classes, but rarely amongst the 
educated, because it is usually remedied by 
operation, very young. If you pass your 
tongue along the roof of your mouth, you 
will feel a little gulley in the centre. Well, 
with a cleft palate there k not a gulley hut 
a gap." 

* 4 And this painter — the murderer— had 
it ? " 

" Yes, He had been born in St* Helena. 
He had been operated upon unskilfully, and 
he had ever afterwards to wear a plate. And 
—as I told you — such a condition in on 
educated person is sufficient to cause surprise. 
That was whyl was suspicious when, a couple 
of days ago, a man came to me with such 
a plate for repair. There w r ere other indications 
as well," 

" What were they?" 

** He had on clothes of a cut that was 
fashionable five years ago, and of a stuff which 
is out of favour just now f . They smelled 
strongly of naphthaline, as if they had been 
long put away. Also, though without a henrd 
or moustache, he had features which tallied 
with those of the missing mam His height 
tallied also, and I found out that he was a 
painter bv his jargon when I praised a picture 
which f ^^ L ^.^ |t ^U would *? 






was bad. Personally , I have no doubt of 
his identity at all/' 

" But, Dennis, if he's a murderer, why does 
he come back to England ? Why didn't he 
stay abroad ? " 

*' Perhaps he never went abroad. Perhaps 
he had to come back. He hud lived in London 
from childhood, and a murderer 43 said to be 
like a hunted hare, which always returns to 
her original l form/ That doesn't concern me, 
anyway, I am satisfied of his identity, I have 
only to go to Scotland Yard and report 
matters, and in due course receive the 

"How much is it?" 

" The two hundred pounds I told you of, 
offered bv the parents , and the hundred given 
by Scotland Yard itself." 

Daphne gasped. She caught hold of both 
his hands,, pulled him forward, and kissed him 
on the lips, 

" But it's magnificent ! " she cried, " With 
what you've saved you can buy a good 
practice. And think of the advertisement. 
It will bring you business and fame." 

*' Yes," Dennis's mouth quivered. " And 
your people — they won't think me a rotter 
anymore. Oh, I know only too well that they 
do ! " 

Daphne denied no longer what she had so 
stoutly refused to admit to him for all those 
last two years, 

11 Yes," she answered, " they have been 
perfect beasts about you ever since that awful 
scene we had, and they never stopped saying 
that you've deceived them about your pros- 
pects — as if you could help your uncle dying 
so unexpectedly and so poor. But never mind 
now. Everything is splendid. When are you 
going to see the police ? " 

** To-night. I shall go up to Scotland Yard, 
you know, and ask to sec the man in charge*" 

u And if he won't see you ? " 

" He mil see me. But I've written to the 
Home Secretary as well," 

Dennis crosGL'd to the desk, took the letter 
out of its envelope, and put it into 
Daphne's hand. She read it and handed it 

" And no one else knows > n she asked. 
u About this cleft palate , I mean ? " 

" No one — except— I suppose Dr. Hollis 

u Dr. Hollis ! " 

H Yes* The mun was ilL He wanted me 
to recommend him a doctor. I thought of 
Hollis* who has just put up his plate. But 
it's all right. It isn't as if Hollis was a dentist, 
and- -" 

Digitized by Gt 

Dennis stopped. There had !>ecn a ring at 
the front door, 

" That's a patient/' he said. " I sh&U be 
busy till six o'clock. I shall go straigh nome 
then. Will you come up with me to *&:/# ? ?> 

" Yes. fll come to your rocuis and fetch 
you. In the meantime, I suppose I'm not to 
tell mother , or " 

14 My dear ! " 

Dennis gasped his horror , then laughed as 
he saw that she had joked- He took her out 
to the front door, returned to the surgery, 
rang fcr the maid, sent for the waiting patient, 
and began to work. 

It was a short job ; he had finished it by 
ten minutes to three. There was an interval 
before his next patient was due. 

He sat down at the desk in the corner , and 
re-read his letter to the Home Office, to make 
everything certain and sure. Now that it was 
all settled and he had leisure t&lhink of it, he 
disliked the business of playmg informer 
immensely ; indeed, his distaste for it, in the 
beginning hardly felt by him, grew greater by 
leaps and bounds. But he had a duty towards 
society, as well as to Daphne and himself, 
and in a month he would have a practice, in 
three months he would be married, climbing 
another man's stairs no longer, working not 
for an employer but himself. How he would 
w f ork I How he would show Daphne's people I 

He looked up. There had been a ring at 
the telephone ; he rose, lifted the receiver, and 
set it to his ear. He knew tli£ voice imme- 
diately, and, with the initial consciousness, 
he became a prey to fear. 

It was the voice of his friend, the young 
doctor whom he had recommended to the 
murderer in the matter of the sore throat, 

u Is that you, Ord ? " 

" Yes, How are vou, Hollis ? What's 

11 Oh, nothing special. But you know that 
chap you sent along ? " 

u Yes. What about him ? " 

" Oh, he's got a lovely " 

The doctor became technical, Dennis 
staggered, almost as if he had been struck. 
He managed to ask a few questions, to hear 
a few replies. Then he hung up the receiver 
and walked slowly back to his desk. He felt 
sick and shaken without any apparent cause. 
Because the news made no difference to him 
personally ; the great thing was that the 
doctor had not recognized the man. 

The door-bell, the maid's entrance, and 
the appearance of a patient stayed his think- 
ing for a while. But not for long He thought 
as he worked ; ha thought when alone again ; 




he thought as he stood hy the operating chair 
throughout the tedious afternoon. It was one 
thing to discover a murderer and to denounce 

him ; it was another to ♦ If it were not 

for that reward and Daphne's people he would 
tear up the letter to the Home Secretary and 
forgo the visit to London, and wait and plod 
on and save. But Daphne made it impossible. 
She would see it differently ; women were 
more material than men* He owed heT a 
duty — the duty of shortening an engagement 
which had been long, and which* without this 
piece of good fortune, would have lasted 
another three years. For himself it did not 
matter. But he did not stand alone. 

The afternoon passed. Six o'clock came j 
he sterilized his instruments, put them away 
in his cabinet, and hurried through the village 
and up the hill. In his little, stuffy sitting- 
room, with its sporting pictures, its easy 
chair, and its golf-clubs. Daphne was waiting 
as arranged. She wore furs. Her eyes shone 
out deliciously from beneath a soft warm toque. 
But she looked graver than usual* Dennis 
thought that she even looked tired. It was 
react ion j he told himself, after the excitement 
of his news, 

M Well/' she said. " are you ready ? 
Have you had anything to eat ? " 

" No, We can dine at the Popular in Pic- 
cadilly before we go on to Scotland Yard/' 

Dennis— he was still thinking desperately- 
had spoken dully and as if without heart for 
the business that they had in hand, Daphne 
stared at him. She knew r his every inflexion ; 
she could see that something was amiss, 

Ni What has happened ? " ?he asked 
anxiously, *' You look worried. Is it — you 
don't mean that, after all, he isn't the man ? " 

Dennis did not answer. And Daphne 
jumped to the worst, 

11 You don't mean that the doctor you sent 
him to has guessed everything — and done you 
out of the reward ! " 

"No; not that." 

11 Welt, what ? n 

11 Hollis rang me up on the 'phone— just 
after you had gone. The man had been to 
see him about his throat. And Hollis wanted 
to tell mc that he couldn't live three months ! " 

** What ! n 

'* No , Daphne. He is suffering from a 
mortal disease/' 

Dennis stopped. Daphne said nothing* 
A long black silence fell upon the pair. Den- 
nis's foot kicked at the fender, Daphne's 
shoe played with the pattern of the carpet ; 
they looked up at intervals, showing each 
other strained and piteous eyes. It was as 

if they were both conscious of the way in 
which Fate was driving in upon them ; as if, 
too , neither wished to take initiative in the 
choice which must be made. Silence became 
harder than speech presently. Daphne broke 
it 3 coming suddenly across the room. 

" Dennis," she said, " Dennis, what are 
you going to do ? " 

" I don't know, Daphne, It's pretty 
awful. FH do what you think best," 

She nodded ; they stood looking at each 
other ; two ordinary people, fighting against 
their Fate* On the one hand lay com fort , 
competency, and release from worry, for the 
mere giving up to judgment of a murderer ; 
on the other hand lay deferment of their 
marriage, the miseries of a prolonged engage- 
ment, the endurance of all the slights and 
discomforts of their present circumstances 
for at least another three years. 

And this time Dennis was the first to speak. 

" You knowj Daphne , what it means ! " 
he began at last. 

" Not doing it — not giving hini up ? w 

" Yes, Daphne— what we must sacrifice 
if we let him dis in peace ! " 

She nodded. And she began to speak rather 

" I read the case — the cuttings , as you asked 
me ; and I had begun to worry about— about 
going up to London— all the afternoon. I felt 
that even apart from the money it was only 
right to give him up to justice, but I felt 
sorry for him ; too. He loved his wife- 
he seems to have been passionately devoted 
to hsr, but h?r parents made mischief and 
tried to get her away. They were succeeding 
— and h s stabbed her in a fit of jealous rage. 
And I thought of you, Dennis. You know 
how terribly angry you were when father and 
mother tried to break off the engagement. 
You. toOj are very jealous — that means that 
you love me — and I wouldn't have you any- 
thing else. But you know, Dennis, perhaps 
if you T d been ill and run down and worried, 
instead ot being in splendid health, you might 
have gone mad for a minute and have done 
the same thing ! " 

Dennis winced. He was jealous— and he 
felt that what she said was true. Daphne 
w T ent on slowly — fighting against hferself and 
him — having gone over to Fate's side. 

" Three months/' she said, softly. M He 
has only got three months to live. If we — 
if we don't go to London — -will he — will he 
suffer much pain ? " 

tv Hollis said not. The end will come all 
at once.'' 

u And hoM- long iloes a murder trial go on ? " 


3 02 



Original from 

by Google 



M Taking the polkc-eourt, the Old Bailey, 
and the time before - before the execution ? " 

41 Yes;' 

" I suppose about three months ! " 

'* Three months ! And lie would have just 
three months of life in any case if we didn't 
— if we don't give him up ! Oh, Dennis, it 
would be too cruel ! What are we lo do ? t! 

Dennis shrugged his shoulders, He turned, 
put his foot on the f nder again, and stood 
looking into the fire. Daphne, who had been 
facing him,, walked to one of the windows 
and threw it open wide, And the room 
became full of a distant rumble und roar. 

The pavements were wet. It was raining. 
Through the moist, warm atmosphere the 
street lamps were sparkling in the distance ; 
others gleamed like a row of far-off candles 
along the wall of Greenwich Park, 

Daphne stoofl looking out* In the heart of 
her, as in the heart of Dennis, an enormous 
conflict was raging* materialism and self- 
sacrifice, rigidncss and charity, all these 
things were at grips. Perhaps but for one 
other thing materialism and rigidness would 
have conquered hands down. That one thing 
was the atmosphere which surrounded them, 
the milieu in which they lived* They had 
been born in Blackbeath, the narrowest and 
most respectable of all the suburbs ; they 
had absorbed its outlook and its conven- 
tions, its teachings and its passion for games. 
For good or ill, in this crisis of their lives they 
were the victims of their environment ; hardly 
had they personal volition ; they were the ser- 
vants of the life they had led. Games, games } 
always games ; outside working hours it 
was all that they lived for ; and they had 
absorbed the codes they pursued. Always 
to be sporting, never to take art unfair advan- 
tage, to forgo readily sooner than win in any 
but the cleanest of ways. To stab in the 
back, to betray a man who was dying was 
impossible to them now. Fools they might 
be — in the sight of some folks splendid— 
which, mattered not at all. What did matter 
was that they were the bondslaves of their 
characters, and that li character is Fate/' 

For a long while then, whilst Dennis looked 
into the firelight, Daphne stood without 
moving, her fingers upon the sill, Suddenly 
she gave a gasp, lifted her hands quickly, 
and shut the window down. And Dennis, 
who had left choice with her, was aware 

immediately that she had shut out at that 
moment their goal for a full three years. 

She crossed the room towards him. Her 
eyes were full of determination ; yes, and of 
exaltation, too. 

li I can't do it/ 1 she said. i( Dennis, it 
mustn't be ! M 

He nodded. He liad not her temperament, 
her capacity for showing feeling ; but his 
code was as lofty as hers. Ridiculous it 
might be. But it was the ordinary English 
code, whose ideals shall inform the world, 

" I know/' he answered. " 1 agree with 
you* We can't do this awful thing. Who 
are we to judge, anyway ? I am no better 
than he. How do I know what I might have 
done in his place ? n 

In turn Daphne nodded. She had been 
grave, but now she smiled. 

li Dennis , dear," she said, " give me the 
letter ; let me put it into the fire/' 

Dennis smiled in answer. He put his hand 
into a pocket, withdrew the envelope, and 
in silence held it out. Daphne" took it, 
glanced at it, and spoke almost beneath 
her breath. 

(i { Vengeance is mine/ " she said, " i Ven- 
geance is mine * ! " 

She put a foot on- the fender; a daintily- 
shod foot, half-covered with a well-fitting 
spat. The back of the envelope was upper- 
most. She turned it over in her bunds. 

(l The Home Secretary/' she read, " White- 
hall, S.W." 

And then, u Poor man ! " she added. 
11 He won't get it, will he, my dear ? " 

She laughed out aloud. Then, with a little 
sob. her long, white fingers tare the envelope 
and tore it again. She threw the fragments 
into the fire, ft consumed them. Only 
a little trace of them — an ashen-grey paper — 
remained. That, too, went in a moment, 
drawn up the chimney by the draught. 

Daphne turned to Dennis and met his eyes, 

He put out his hand. She took it, and held 
it tightly in her own, Dennis gave an 
involuntary sigh. 

*' Three years longer, Daphne/' he said, 
sadly, i£ Our dream — our dream of this 
morning is over for good and all ! M 

Daphne with her free hand patted very 
gently the hand which she held in hers. 

" Yes, it is over," she answered. " But 
there are better dreams, my dear ! " 

by Google 

Original from 



Continued by IMrs. Irving (Dorothea Baira). 

AY BE it was because we were 
the sons of our father that 
my brother Laurence and I 
became actors. And this in 
spite of the fact that not 
only were any histrionic am- 
bitions we may have had in 
our boyhood days discouraged by him, but 
the actual influence of his art upon our 
minds must have been small, for the 
simple reason that as boys we saw very 
little of him. He was always a very busy 
man in his profession, and we were seldom 
given the pleasure of a visit to the theatre. 
Few actors, I think, however, care to see 
their sons follow their own vocation. It is 
always an anxious and difficult life, and 
especially difficult at the start, and I feel 
that it was with the kindly thought of saving 
Laurence and me from the drudgery of the 
stage beginner that my father encouraged 
me to study for the Bar and helped Laurence 
to enter the diplomatic profession. 

My own boy Laurence, who is an officer in 
the Roval Naval Air Service, has never 
evinced any desire to follow in his father's 
footsteps. As to my daughter, I won + t 
presume to offer an opinion. My wife and 
myself, however, would not regret her 
taking up work on the stage were she inclined 
to do so, and provided her character and 
health were sufficiently established to stand 
the strain of leaving home and making her 
way in the world. 

My father was interested in my early per- 
formances on the stage, though the results 
were not always encouraging. I remember 
his coming down to the Richmond Theatre 
to see me play Claude Melnotte in li The 
Lady of Lyons. n I was very anxious to 
make as good an impression as possible on 
him, and put forth my best efforts. Unfor- 
tunately it happened to be the regatta night. 
When I reached that most important moment 
in the career of Claude MelnotttT when he 
describes, in the rich language of Lord 
Lytton, his dream of 4< a palace lifting to 
eternal summers/' etc,, at this moment, 

Digitized by ^OOQIC 

when I washed to convey to my father what 
1 thought the quiet beauty of my delivery of 
these lines, my whole plans were upset by a 
series of violent explosions caused by squibs, 
rockets, and maroons. The effect of these 
explosions was to entirely shatter my youth- 
ful hopes, and 1 could tell from my father's 
manner afterwards that, though he had been 
impressed by the Richmond fireworks, he 
had been rather depressed by my own. 

I have said that, as boys, my father dis- 
couraged thoughts of the theatre. But he 
was not adamant, and he willingly acquiesced 
when we expressed a wish to play at theatri- 
cals at the home of the late Edmund Rout- 
ledge. The play was *' H.M.S, Pinafore:* I 
was cast for the part of Captain Corcoran, 
while Max Beerbohm and Laurence, who 
were my juniors, were in the chorus. 1 
remember that, being uncommonly lazy, 
I was discharged during the rehearsal for 
incompetence and inattention, but as no 
substitute could be found they were obliged 
to have me back, which was a doubtful 
advantage to the production, for my voice, 
which, 1 feel sure, must have had beauties 
of its own, was not very well adapted to 
certainly some of Sir Arthur Sullivan's music. 
Consequently certain important numbers in 
the part of Captain Corcoran had to be 

However f the performance was, if I recol- 
lect rightly, sympathetically received by 
friends. After the play was finished there was a 
fancy dress ball, at which I remember seeing 
Sir Herbert Tree dressed as Hamlet. This 
was, of course, before he ever played the 
part. About this time — we were nine and 
ten respectively — Laurence and I played 
Charles and Joseph Surface at a performance 
in Knightshridge of various scenes from 
Sheridan's *' School for Scandal/' and a 
short time later appeared at the St. George's 
Hall in " Pickwick/' when I played the part 
of Mast it liardcll in the trial scene. I was a 
somewhat weedy child, and had to be padded 
for the part. Beyond having to upset some 
marbles and burst : nti tears at a given cue, 




I had little 

o p p o r - 

tunity for 

d i s p 1 ay- 

ing those 
higher gifts which 
I am sure I 
thought at the 
time I most 

It must not be 
thought that we 
regarded th ; s 
s e r i o ^siy. We 
simply looked 
upon it as a 
pleasant pastime, 
and because our 
name was Irving 
people naturally 
took a kindly 
interest in the 
a ma t eu r per for m- 
ances in which 
we appeared. 
When I tell you, 
however, that at 
school we never 
indulged in 
theatricals, and 
my only elocu- 
tionary efforts 
were reciting at a few Penny 
you will understand that even 
any ambition at this time to 
an actor, it was not encouraged. As a 
matter of fact, I don't think I performed 
again until I left Marlborough and went into 
residence at Oxford ; and it was there? when 
I took part for three years, appearing as 
Decius Brutus in " Julius Caesar/' Went worth 
in 4£ Strafford/* and H King John," in the 
annual productions of the Oxford University 
Dramatic Society, that I first really tasted 
the pleasures of acting without the pains 
of having to earn a living by it. 

Arthur Bourchier, Holman (Hark, and 
^Alan Mackinnon were my contemporaries, 

VoL L-39. 


Pkitj. by VfTncuit, y /i i ■■■•!.. .■.■!.■ 

if I had 
shine as 

g e n e rally 
said that I 
made my 
first ap- 
pearance as an 
amateur up at 
the 'Varsity in 
1889, hut 1 
wouldn't like to 
forget my per- 
formance as the 
Captain in 
11 H.M.S. Pina- 
forer My feel 
JngSj by the way, 
were somewhat 
outraged on the 
occasion of my 
initial appear- 
ance for the 
OJtJ.DJS., wheal 
found my self cast 
for the somewhat 
insignificant part 
of Dedua Brutus, 
I was persuaded, 
in my own mind* 
that the name I 
bore, and m y 
absolute want of 
experience, fully 
entitled me to 
play M leading 
persuasions of a 
accept the 

business/' and only the 

wise tutor prevailed on me to 

modest rSle of the lesser conspirator against 

the life of Caesar. 

It was during a vacation in my Oxford 
days that I had the honour of meeting the 
late King Edward, then Prince of Wales* 
My father had arranged an exhibition of 
fencing, which took place on the stage of the 
Lyceum, and the Prime was present. At 
the conclusion my father presented me to 
him, and I do not think his late Majesty 
ever spoke to a more embarrassed young 
man. Perhaps I ought to mention the fact 
that I 

was, at 

that time , very eager to 
my father, however, being 



absolutely opposed u> 

my wishes. And it 

was from the late King 

Edward that 1 received 

at least some en- 
couragement ? although 

le spoke hut a few 

V I , After I had 

been presc n t ed, he 

asked ; — 

" What is he going 

to he?" 
And the reply which 

my father gave made 

me fee extremely 


11 Poor hoy/' said 

he, " he wants to be 

an actor/ 5 
' Well," queried the Prince, 
in a cheerful voice, ik and if 
he wants to he an actor, why 
shouldn't he ? " 

If anybody in this world 
has ever been truly grateful, 
I was then. 

At the same time, I was then, as now, so 
fond of legal study that it was with feelings 
of real pleasure that 1 entered as a student of 
the Inner Temple on leaving Oxford, the Bar 
being the profession chosen for me. Hut 
not for long, The theatre had a mage 
charm which I ?ouJd not resist ; and soon 

after leaving the 'Varsity I made my first 
professional appearance on the stage. 

This is at all times an agitating occasion, 
however pleasant may be the circum- 
stances in which it takes place. And 
mine were very pleasant, as I ap- 
peared at the Garrick Theatre under 
the kindly auspices of Sir John 
(then Mr.) Hare in a revival of 
' School " on September 19th, 1891. 
Nor have I anything to complain 
of in my treatment at the hands of 
that great source of terror to the 
novice, the Press. They were 
most forbearing, for f know 
1 was not good in the part I 
played ; if they told 
me so, they d d it in a 
most considerate 

I must say that my 
dfbut caused me much 
agitation and nervous 
perturbation. And I 
have never b&p able 
to conquer timt feel- 
ing of nervousness on 
first nights, which 
pass sometimes like a 
dream and sometimes 
like a nightmare. 
Keen experience docs 
not make one any less 
nervous or apprehen- 
sive in regard to each 
new production. I 
have often said before 
a first night, l( Well, 
if I get through this 
part all right 1 shall 
never be nervous 
agai n " — a most 
erroneous notion, the 
falsity of which I have 
proved with unfailing 
regularity on the next 
similar occasion. 

There is always an 
electricity in the air 
on a first nght, an 
eager excitement that 
occasionally has curious results. An odd 
little incident happened on the first nght 
of my father 1 s production of " The Corsican 
Brothers " at the Lyceum. Sir Arthur 
Pinero, who had a small part in the play, 
entered from the hack of the stage in the 
first scene. It was evidently regarded as 
an important wUanee, for the audience^ 

/'k>-iivi. Ritrur, Richmond, 



watching with obvious eagerness for the 
appearance of the li star/' burst into loud 
applause. They were determined not to be 
caught a second time, however, for my 
father's entrance a little later passed prac- 
tically unnoticed. 

The patience of the first-night audience is 
remarkable. So long as the play is good 
they will forgive anything in the way of 
slips and long 
waits, and will 
help the actors 
over ever so 
many stiles. At 
the first night 
of "The Admir 
able Crichton " 
I r emember 
something went 
wrong on the 
stage, and the 
waits were so 
terribly long 
that the play 
finished about 
twelve. In 
spite of this, 
however, the 
audience waited 
patiently for the 
final triumph- 
ant fall of the 
curtain. But, of 
course, " The 
A d m i r a b I e 
Crichton ' ' 
was a remarkably fine play and bound to 
succeed in the face of every difficulty. I do 
not say it because I acted in it, but I sincerely 
think that it is one of the best plays that Sir 
J. M. Barrie has written. 

I might mention that of all the modern 
parts I have played, Crichton is unde- 
n ably my favourite. Though I played it 
over three hundred times, I never grew tired 
of it. There was a charm about the part 
and the play which prevented it becoming 

Referring again for a moment £0 my first 
professional appearance, some people have 
thought it curious that after playing at the 
Garrirk I left the stage for a couple of years 
and resumed my studies for the Bar, being 
called in 1894; It must be remembered, 
however, that when I first appeared at the 
Garrick I was only twenty-one years of age 
and very unsettled in regard to my future, 
because I was divided between my affection 


nl cap) AND 


Pkuto. Window *t aTOK. 

the stage and 
ir.te^est in L lie 
I was not satisfied 
w i t h m y ap pear a nces 
at the Garrick. k ml 
though everybody 
had been, and at 
times thought that 
perhaps the law was 
my forte. The eall 
of the stage, how- 
ever, was again too 
strong- "But when I finally bade the law 
good-bye and reappeared on the stage at the 
Comedy Theatre in " Dick Sheridan/' I 
recognized the fact that I needed wider 
experience of parts and a better knowledge 
of the technique of the stage than I was 
likely to obtain by acting in London, 

I was fortunate to find a provincial 
manager who would take me on as his 
" leading man v — Mr. Ben Greet — and as a 
member of his company I played an excep- 
tionally useful repertoire that gave one the 
chance of tackling such diverse parts as 
Othello and Charles Surface, Hamlet, and 
Julian Beauclerk in " Diplomacy," and 
many others in Shakespeare and the old 
comedies. To any young actor this was a 
golden opportunity, and it was one's own 
fault if one did not make good use of it. 

Whether I was right in after years in 
taking up such unique characters as Math: as 

3 o8 


Dubosc and Lesurques 
in * l The Lyons Mail/' 
and others, not least 
among them Louis X I . 
in Boucicault's -excel- 
lent version of the 
French play by Dela- 
vigne — parts which my 
father made so famous 
— is, of course, a ques 
tion which the public 
alone can answer. 
Natural! y they have 
always had a peculiar 
interest for me. and it 
was the popularity of 
" The Lyons Mai] ?1 
which led mc to have 
great hopes of that 
other " double-part " 
play, " Dr. Jekyll and 
Mr. Hyde." My father, 
as well as myself, was 
greatly fascinated by 
this double character. 
But Robert Louis 
Stevenson would not 
consent, in my father's 
time, to dramatize the 
story, although urged 
to do so for the sake of 
getting Sir Henry in 
the double part* 

" No ! * ? writes " R. 
L, S./ emphatically, in 
the " Vail i ma Letters," 
" 1 will not write a play 
for Irving, or the devil ! 
Can you not .see that 
the work of falsification 
which a play demands 
is of all tasks the most 
ungrateful ? J1 Th e 
swing of time, however, brought a dramatic 
version by Mr. Corny ns farr, which, I 
venture to think, is the best dramatic version 
of the story thai has been made. 

Perhaps no two plays have given rise to 
more questions from the curious than ' 4 The 


Photo\ Kay <t Eiht t f Water}/. 

—questions arising 
from the doubling of 
the parts. To answer 
here the many letters 
I have received on the 
subject, I may be per- 
mitted to point out 
that in the latter play 
1 have no \ u double " 
because I do not leave 
the sight of the 
audience for a single 
second, But in M The 
Lyons Mail " I do have 
a double, 

In this play I enact 
the two roles of Joseph 
Lesurques, the Parisian 
merchant > and Dubosc, 
the notorious robber 
and murderer. The 
question to whifh I 
have most frequently 
been asked to reply is 
something like this ; 
"Just prior to the end 
of the play Dubosc is 
seen in his garret strug- 
gling in the hands of 
the angry crowd , and 
while they are still 
treating him to rough 
usage Lesurques, who 
lui.s just narrowly es- 
caped the gallows, 
rushes in- At that 
time do you appear as 
I u hose or Lesurques ?" 
I will let the readers 
of The Strand Maga- 
zine into the secret. 
What actually happens 
is this. The door of 
the garret is situated in one of the side 
walls, and as the people outside force it 
inwards Dubosc is swung back with it 
and is momentarily covered from the 
audiences view T . This is the instant in 
which the change is effected. Mv double 

Lyons Mail " arjcj " J>r. J ekyll and Mr, Hyde 1T enters 

pflwyiitivfisiif an aperture 



in the wall behind the door. It Is he who 
falls back from the door into the hands of 
the mob, while L having quickly made the 
necessary alteration to my appearance, enter 
simultaneously as Lesurques. 

There is no trickery, however, in " Dr. 
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde/' I do not leave the 
stage. Such change as I make is done in 
sight of the audience in as lightning a 
manner as possible. 

As in the case of my father , criminal plays 
have always had a certain fascination for 
me., and, I think, up to a point for the 
public , whj!c the task of writing 
and editing the various books 
on criminology which bear 
my name was a real plea 
sure to me. My incli 
nation towards the 
study of crime is 

was the murder of Patrick O'Connor by the 
Mannings in 1849* 

While the public here, however, are in- 
variably interested in criminal plays, I found 
during our tours of Australia and South 
Africa in the last four years that the people 
of the Colonies have an extraordinary affec- 
tion for Shakespeare, In June, 191 1, we 
opened at Sydney with " Hamlet/' which was 
so popular that it would easily have carried 
us through the whole of our ten weeks' stay 
in the city. And that was our experience 
everywhere. " Hamlet " would have 
been sufficient. We scarcely 
needed anything more. The 
people simply crowded the 
theatres to see it, and 
never seemed to tire of 
it although we 
played 'The 

partly inherited 
and partly ac- 
quired. My father 
was fond of studying 
the psychology of the 
criminal who was out Mft, and mrs, 

of the common order. 1N J- M - barriers flay, 
I have always been 

attracted by cases of poisoning, and this 
class of murder invariably gave my father 
food for thought* 

For instance, I have heard him dwell more 
than once on the peculiar case of William 
Palmer, the medical practitioner who did to 
death many people, including his wife and 
brother, As usual in these cases, he was 
only put on trial for one specific murder. 
He was ably defended, and the evidence 
against him was purely circumstantial, but 
the proof was too strong, and the prosecution , 
led by Sir Alexander Cockhurn (afterwards 
Lord Chief Just ire); secured a conviction, 
md Palmer was duly hanged in front of Staf- 
ford Jail. This was in 1856, hut my father, 
who had attended the trial c/outd recall every 
detail. Another case which interested my 
father, from the point of sheer callousness 

H # 0, IRVING, 


Bells/ 5 "The 
Lyons Mail/ 
" Louis XL/' and 
11 Dr. Jekyll and Mr. 
Hyde." In South 
Africa, too, ** Ham- 
let " was warmly 
welcome i , al though 
one incident which occurred shows, I think, 
that there is still a novelty in Shakespeare, 
and that some people have really only a 
hazy recollection of his most famous charac- 
ters and the plays in which they figure. 

We were playing " Hamlet ,J in one of the 
principal towns, and when Polonius made 
his first entry a lady in the stalls turned to 
her neighbour and remarked : — 
t[ Ah ! I suppose this is Shylock?" 
The same thing m ght, of course, happen 
in London, 

Need I continue this autobiographical 
sketch of myself ? I really do not think so. 
My life since I left Sir George Alexander, to 
whom I owe so much, in igoo T after remain "ng 
with him for nearly five years, covers such 
recent events that: it seems li-ke chronicling 



happenings. Rather would I prefer to take 
advantage of the editor^ courteous request 
to say something of my wife. Hut as 1 feel 
that she is more competent to do this than 
myself, I have asked her to supplement what, 
I fear f is a somewhat rajnbling account of my 
aspirations and my work, with whatever 
story she is pleased to tell you. Perhaps, 
however, I may be permitted to make one 
or two remarks about the theatre of to- 

We are in war-time, and like everyone else 
that is the only question for us at the moment. 
We are naturally very proud that, like other 
professions, we have sent our share of brave 
fellows to fight for their country. Kftecn hun- 
dred out of eight thousand actors ! Not bad ! 
We are very thankful, too, that the seas that 
divide us and the ships that protect us make it 
possible to carry on our business as usual, and 
so prevent such widespread distress as is being 
felt among theatrical people in the countries 
less fortunate than England, Happily this 
has enabled us to give substantial help to 

others besides ourselves, and one of our chief 
sources of satisfaction has been the abil.ty 
to send a goodly sum to aid our comrades in 
France and Belgium, Russ a and Serb a, upon 
whom the war has fallen very grievously. 
Naturally, we have all had to make sacrifices 
in these times, but one can very truly say 
that all connected with the theatre have 
done everything in their power to help to 
meet new conditions. 

Of course the theatre is only an amuse- 
ment — or shall we say a relaxation ? — but 
in war-time perhaps more than in any 
other many r people must stand in need of 
relaxation and relief from the strain that is 
on us alL and perhaps none more than the 
soldiers who are back from the Front. 1 was 
very pleased to read in the Times a most 
interesting account of the return of a 
from the Front to his family, and the writer 
mid that the first thing the soldier seemed 
to want was to be taken to the theatre. So 
you see, though we are only an amusement , 
vet we have our use ! 


The request is flattering. But I feel .some- 
what diffident in complying because, having 
definitely retired from the stage three years 
ago, I do not think that the public, which 
took such a kindly interest in my theatre 
doings, are so murh concerned about me now. 

For a number of years before I left the 
stage ? and long before I ever dreamed of 
being elected a member of the St. Panrras 
Board ot Guardians^ I was interested in 
social work. Indeed, I may say it was my 
first love, I distinctly remember in my 
school days designing creches during an 
algebra lesson, I was very, very happy in 
my school life, and it is a curious coincidence 
that my own little daughter is being educated 
at the same school under the .same mistress. 
Another fact which has a particular interest 
lor me is that our school, which is one of 
the Girls 1 Public Day School Trust, when I 
was young was one of the p oneers of the 
women's education movement. 

I found school -days extraordinarily engross- 
ing. In fact, almost too much so for my 
parents 1 liking, I recall a holiday in Italy, 
where those who were with me were fascin- 
ated by the beauty of Lake ConiOj and yet 
all the time I was thinking only of what they 
were doing at school and longing to be back. 
But I was keen on acting, even in those 
early days, and in one instance I remember 

being nearly broken-hearted because in one 
of the little plays we acted I was not allowed 
to appear in the doublet and hose of a fairy 
prince, but had to don an overall. 

I smile when I think of my enthusiasm for 
the old school, and fear my daughter would 
hardly write, as I did, (1 This school is quite 
equal to harow, Winchester, and E ton/ 1 
At any rate, I am sure she would give these 
great seats of learning capital letters, spell 
Harrow with two r% and remember that 
Eton had nothing to do with eating, 

On leaving school I went to live at Oxford, 
and it was there, while playing for the 
O.U.D.S., that I received my first offer of 
a theatrical engagement from Mr. Ben Greet. 
As it afterwards proved, this was the most 
momentous event of my life, for a certain 
young gentleman, known to hs friends as 
Harry Irving, who had been reading for the 
Bar, had taken to the stage and was Mr. 
CTreet's leading man, and— well, we decided, 
after twelve months* association in Hen 
Greet's company , that our first meeting, 
which took place in the bar of the Lyric 
Theatre during a rehearsal, had been 
designed for our happ ness, 

I remained with Mr* Ben Greet for about 
a year, playing Hippolyta, Helena, Paulina, 
Rosalind (mv favourite), and other Shake- 



in the latter in the Pastorals at Strat ford-on- 
Avon which led Sir Herbert (then Mr.) Tree 
to engage me to play Trilby, and 1 always 
feel that my engagement for this part ought 
to put good heart into all those young people, 
for whom I am always sorry, who are engaged 
in the unpleasant task of understudying, 

ful good fortune, however, my portrait as 
Rosalind appeared in a certain illustrated 
publication. Mr. du Maurier saw it ? thought 
I might play Trilby, recommended mc to 
Sir Herbert Tree, and thus by pure chance 
I was able to seize one of the great oppor- 
tunities of my life. 


which' seems to offer so little chance. I was 
not really understudy to anyone in Mr, 
Greet 's company, but, like most girls of that 
age on the stage, I had ambitions. Although 
I was playing but minor parts, I learned 
parts which I hoped to play some day. The 
result was that on one occasion, when the 
leading lady was unable to play Rosalind 
through illness, her understudy being also 
indisposed, I was able at twenty-four hours' 
notice to play the part. The next night I 
was '* walk"ng on " as one of the crowd in 
fl Much Ado About Nothing." By WQnder- 

You may imagine how r startling it was in 
the circumstances for me to receive a 
message from Sir Herbert Tree that he 
would like to see me, and how pleased and 
excited I was w r hen he offered me the part of 
Trilhy, He did not ask to see my feet, 
Nobody saw them until the first night, 
although some people seem to think that 
they were prominently connected with my 
engagement for the part. 

While Rosalind, however, was thus con- 
nected with this success in my life, it was also 





About the time I played the part, for 
M one night only," a dinner was given by 
certain people of Stratford-on-Avon in celebra- 
tion of Mr, Greet's return with his company. 
I knew that only the leading members of the 
company would be invited, but thought that 
I too might be included in the invitations* 
For I very much wanted to go t particularly 
as a certain Harry would be there. And I 
was [rightfully in love at the time. 1 remem- 
ber that I had a new dress specially made in 
anticipation. But, alas ! the invitation never 
came, and it was a woeful girl who went to 
bed that night. 

The year 1 first played Trilby — 1S95— 
was a most momentous one for me, for in that 
year I also became engaged -a most fatiguing 
process — and spent the hours between re- 
hearsals and performances selecting my 
trousseau and house-hunting. 1 do not 
know that 1 have much to record of my 
theatre doings after playing leading lady in 
a certain ceremony , which resulted in a life- 
partnership with the afore-mentioned Harry. 
It is rather curious that the year following my 
marriage I should have played the part of 
Evelyn in <[ The Happy Life," and I was very 
proud of my association with Sir Henry 
Irving at the Lyceum in such plays as " The 
Merchant of Venice/' t( The Lyons Mail/' 
(t The Bells/' and " Louis XI." My tours 
with my husband began in 1906 and continued 
for about six years, when I was advised to 
give up stage work on account of my health, 
my last appearance being at Sydney, as 
Ophelia, on April 10th. 19 12, 

Although, however, I found that my con- 
stitution was not equal to the strain of theatri- 
cal life. I should not hesitate to let my 
daughter Elizabeth go on the stage if she 
wanted to do so. To my mind it offers better 
opportunities for success than many other 
occupations open to girls nowadays* When 
I pave up acting I quickly found that there 
were other fields of work which attracted me. 
I should have loved to have been a hospital 
nurse, for the work appeared to me so very 
interesting ; and I have always seemed to 
have had an ambition to be a very good cook. 
I remember when I was a little girl of six 

hearing my father say, " How is it I can't 
get a chop cooked decently except at the 
club ? " I determined that when I grew up 
my husband should never be able to complain 
that I could not cook a chop. And although 
I have been married nineteen years he never 

When I want a real day's holiday I spend 
it cooking for my mothers and babies at St. 
Pancras. I could tell you some delightful 
stories of babies at a certain nursery in St. 
Pancras, belonging to a certain institution— 
every one the darling of a mother whose 
only chance of earning a few shillings is to 
leave her babv for a few hours at the crechr, 
Oh, if only someone could afford to build model 
dwellings whose motto might be, (< Large 
babies and small profits ! JJ 

There is so much work to be done by 
women at the present time. I could tell you 
of the social work waiting for women in all 
sorts of directions, and I do feel that we shall 
never be able to help the w x omen of cur 
generation to lead a fuller, happier, and 
more complete existence unless more women 
come forward as voters and candidates at 
municipal elections and interest themselves 
more in local government and questions 
relating to the State. We want both men 
and women in public work. 

It is extraordinar)^ when travelling about 
the country, to find some places where there 
is not a single woman on the Board of Guar- 
dians. I often wonder how such wards 
manage to do their work. Once 1 heard of 
some male Guard ans who went round the 
infirmary and were asked what sort of food 
and battles the babies should have, and 
how their clothes were to be made. That 
is a terrible thing to ask a man, even in his 
own house, let alone in his public capacity. 

There is so much in life that is engrossing 
that I do not find time hanging heavy on 
my hands, even although I have no longer 
a profession. I am as interested in my 
husband and his theatre affairs as I am in 
my social work, and I help him as much as 
I can in his productions, although I shall 
never appear again with him as one of the 

by Google 

Original from 

Makes the Wkole 
World Kin. 




HE burglar stepped inside the 
window quickly, and then he 
took his time, A burglar 
who respects his art always 
takes his time before taking 
anvthing else, 
The house was a private 
residence. By its boarded front door and 
untrimmed Boston ivy the burglar knew 
that the mistress of it was sitting on some 
cc can-side piazza telling a sympathetic man 
in i yachting cap that no one had ever under- 
stood her sensitive, lonely heart. He knew 
by the light in the third-storey front windows 
and by the lateness of the season that the 
master of the house had come home, and 
would soon extinguish his light and retire. 
For it was September of the year and of the 
>oul, in whit li season the house's good man 
tomes to consider roof-gardens and steno- 
graphers as vanities, and to desire the return 
of his mate and the more durable blessings 
of decorum and the moral excellences. 

V*L 1.-4G 

He belonged to the 


I'ghtecl ^VJ 

i i igarette. X 

The guarded 
glow of the 
match illumi- 
nated his salient 
points for a moment, 
third type of burglars. 

This third type has not yet been recognized 
and accepted. The police have made us 
familiar with the first and second. Their 
classification is simple. The collar is the 
distinguishing mark- 

When a burglar is caught who does not 
wear a collar he is described as a degenerate 
of the lowest type, singularly vicious and 
depraved, and is suspected of being the 
desperate criminal who stole the handcuffs 
out of Patrol nvm Hennessv's pocket in 1878 
and wftfe^^^^^^rrest. 



The other well-known type is the burglar 
who wears a collar. He is always referred 
to as a Raffles in real life. He is invariably 
a gentleman by daylight, breakfasting in a 
dress suit, and posing as a paperhanger, 
while after dark he plies his nefarious occu- 
pation of burglary. His mother is an 
extremely wealthy and respected resident of 
Ocean Grove, and when he is conducted to 
his cell he asks at once for i ; i 1-file and the 
Police Gazette. He always has a wife in 
every State in the Union, and fiancees in 
all the Territories, and tin- newspapers 
print his matrimonial gallery out of 
their stock of cuts of 
the ladies who were cured 
by only one bottle after 
having been given up by 
five doctors, experiencing 
great relief after the first 

The burglar wore a bl ue 
sweater. He was neither 
a Raffles nor one of the 
chefs from "Hell's 
Kitchen/' The police 
would have been baffled 
had they attempted to 
classify him. They have 
not yet heard of the 
respectable, unassuming 
burglar who is neither 
above nor below his 

This burglar of the 
third class began to 
prowl, He wore no 
masks, dark-Ian terns, or indiarubhet \ 
shoes. He carried a revolver in his 
pocket, and he chewed peppermint gum 

The furniture of the hon-c wa,^ Mvathr-:! 
in its summer dust- protectors. The silver 
was far away in safe-deposit vaults* The 
burglar expected no remarkable L( haul/' 
His objective point was that dimly-lighted 
room where the master of the house should 
be sleeping heavily after whatever solace he 
had sought to lighten the burden of his 
loneliness. A " touch " might be made 
there to the extent of legitimate, fair pro- 
fessional profits — loose money, a watch, a 
jewelled tie-pin — nothing exorbitant or 
beyond reason. He had seen the window 
left open and had taken the chance* 

The burglar softly opened the door of the 
lighted room. The gas was turned low. A 
man lay in the bed asleep. On the dressing- 
table lay many things in confusion— a 

crumpled roll of bills, a watch, keys, three 
poker chips, crushed cigars, a pink silk hair 
bow, and an unopened bottle cf brorno- 
seltzer for a bulwark in the morning. 
The burgla -ook three steps towards the 


dressing-table. The man in the bed suddenly 
uttered a squeaky groan and opened his eyes. 
His right hand slid under his pillow, but 
remained there, 

" Lie still," said the burglar, in conversa- 
tional tone. Burglars of the third type do not 
hiss. The citizen in the bed looked ut the round 
end of the burglar's pistol, and lay still, 

" Now hold up both your hands/' com- 
manded the burglar. 




The citizen had a little po'nted brown- 
and -grey beard like that of a painless dentist. 
He looked solid, esteemed irritable, and 
disgusted. He sat up in bed and raised his 
right hand above his head. 

" Up with the other one, 7 ' ordered the 
burglar. " You might be amphibious and 
shoot with your left* You can count two, 

cant you? 
II li r r y u p. 

raise the 


other one/ 1 sa : d the citizen, with a con- 
tortion of his lineaments, 

*' What's the matter with it ? " 

** Rheumatism in the shoulder." 

" Inflammatory ? " 

(1 Was- The inflammation has gone 

The burglar stood for a moment or two, 
holding his gun on the afflicted one. He 
glanced at the plunder on the dressing-table 

and then, with a half -embarrassed a:i\ back 
at the man in the bed. Then he, too, made 
a sudden grimace. 

" Don't stand there making faces/' snapped 
the citizen, bad-humourcdly. " If you've 
come to burgle why don't you do it ? There's 
some stud lying about." 

" 'Scuse me/' said the burglar, with a 
grin. ** It's good for you that rheumatism 
and me happens to be old pals, I got it in 
my left arm too. Host anybody but me 
would have popped you when you wouldn't 
hoist that left claw of yours." 

u How long have you had it ? " inquired 
the citizen, 

' Four years. I guess that ain't all. 
Once you've got it, it's you for a rheumatic 
life — that's my judgment." 

14 Ever try rattlesnake 
oil ? " asked the citizen, 

" Gallo ns," said the 
burglar, li If all the snakes 
I've used the oil of was 
strung out in a row they'd 
reach e'ght times as far 
as Saturn, and the rattles 
could be heard at Val- 
paraiso, Indiana, and batk." 
" Some use Chiselum's 
Pills." remarked the citizen. 

l< Fudge ! " said the 
burglar. " Took 'em five 
months. No good. I had 
some relief the year I tried Finkelham's 
Extract, Balm of Gilead poultices, and Potts's 
Pain Pulverizer ; but I think it was the 
buckeye I tarried in my pocket what done 
the trick." 

4 Is yours worse in the morning or at 
n ; ght ? " asked the citizen. 

* Night/ 1 said the burglar ; ll just when 
I'm busiest. But, take down that arm of 
yours. Say, d.d you ever try BlickerstafTs 
Blood Builder ? " " 

1 I never d;d. Does yours come in 
paroxysms or is it a steady pain?" 

The burglar sat down on the foot of the 
bed and rested his revolver on his crossed knee. 
" It jumps/ 1 sa : d he. " It strikes me 
when I ain't looking for it. 1 had to give 
up second-storey wo~k because I gut stuck 
sometimes half-way up, Tell you what — I 
don't believe the bloomin' doctors know 
what is good for it." 

" Same here. I've spent a thousand dollars 
without getting any relief. Yours swell any ? ' * 
(( Of mornings. .And when it's goin' to 
rain— tireat Christ oDbec J ' 

princeYon university 



" Me, too/' said 
the citizen* <l I can 
tell when a streak 
(if humidity thes ?t 
of a table -doth 
starts from Florida 
on its way to 
New York, 
And if I pass 
a theatre 
where there's 
an * Eas t 
Lvnne 7 mati- 
nfe going on, 
the moisture 
starts my left arm 
jumping like a 

" It's und'luted 
Hades!" said the 

"You're dead 
right," said the 

The burglar 
looked down at his 
pistol and thrust it 
into his pocket 
with an awkward 
attempt at ease. 

4t Say, old man /* 
he s a i d % con- 
strainedly, " ever 
try opodeldoc ? " 

"Slop!" sm<] 
the citizen, angrily. 
11 Might as well rub 
on restaurant 




curred the burglar. 

It's a salve suitable 
for little Minnie when the kitty scratches 
her finger. I'll tell you what ! We're 
up against it. I only find one thing 
that eases her up. Hey ? Little old 

him by the right 
" Come on/' he 
vou. Leave it 
price. Ever try 
winter green ? " 

s an :tary , ameliorating, 

lest-we - forget Booze, 

Say this job's off — 

'scuse me — get on your 

clothes and let's go 

out and have some. 

'Scuse the 


but ouch! 

There she 

goes again!** 

"For a 

week." sard 

the citizen 

" I haven't 

been able to dress 

myself without 

help, Fm afraid 

Thomas is in bed. 

and- " 

14 Climb out/' 
said the burglar ; 
"Til help you 
get into your duds* 
I knew a man who 
said Qmberry's Oint- 
ment fixed him in 
two w e e ks so that 
he could use both 
hands in fastening his 

As they were going 
out the door the citizen 
turned and started 

11 Forgot my money/' 
he explained ; " laid it 
on the dressing-table 
last night/' 

The burglar caught 

said, bluffly. " I ask 
alone, I've got the 
witch-hazel and oil of 


rial from 

The Depths of Our Lakes and Seas. 



Ny. I.— If St PauPi Quhedml and the Monument were placed in the louthem half of the North Sea or in the Sliaila 

of Dover I hey would appear a» shown above. 

HE traveller who has sailed 

from Hamburg to Hull, 

Dublin to Liverpool, or from 

Cherbourg to Plymouth, and 

later finds himself paddling 

in a canoe on the unruffled 

surface of a Highland loch 

seldom realizes that he may have below him 

vi far greater depth of water than when he 

traversed the North Sea, Irish Sea, or the 

English Channel. When we look at a map 
of the British Isles and note .the seventy 
miles between Wales and Ireland, the 
hundred miles from Devonshire to Brittany, 
and the four hundred miles that separate 
England from Germany, it seems, hardly- 
credible that the narrow slits or oblongs 
representing Loch Lomond, Loch Tay, Loch 
Ness, and Loch Morar are all more than 

twice 'to itifta^r 1 ™ *•* 

3* 8 



1«.| 9H4i 
HEAGH ^"*- 
10 * r * I300 FT 





IOI7 f* 

ioJOO t' 

No. 2— Thii diagram jhowi the rantml l>et 
of our likei and tent. 

i?.- deplhi 

It should be understood that Great 
Britain and Ireland stand upon the conti- 
nental shelf which extends westward of 
Ireland a sufficient distance to afford stand- 
ing room for another Ireland, Then there 
is a sudden and immense drop to the bed of 
the Atlantic lying ten thousand five hundred 
feet below the level of the sea. Though the 
surfaces of the Scottish lochs arc, of course, 
higher than the sea-level, yet the bottoms of 
many of them are far lower than those 
of the surrounding seas. The diagram above 
will show the contrast between our British 
lake and sea depths (No. 2), 

The shallowness of the shelf on which the 
British Isles rest and the depths of the dents 
or depressions inside them may be more easily 
understood and more vividly appreciated if 
we use well -known public buildings for our 

Let us suppose that St, Paul's Cathedral 
were placed in the southern half of the 
North Sea or in the Straits of Dover. The 
depth is about one hundred and eighty feet* 
As the cathedral is four hundred and four 
feet high, more than half of it would be 
visible (No. 1). If the London Monument 
were erected in the same area the top of 
the torch would be twenty-three feet above 
the water. 

The average depth of the North Sea is 
two hundred and eighty-eight feet. Towards 
the north it deepens considerably, The 
deepest part of the Irish Sea is about three 
hundred feet. The English Channel south 
of Plymouth has a depth of two hundred 
and sixty-four feet. Where the Lusitania 

l:cs ? a few miles south-west of the Old Head 
of Kinsale, the depth will be about three 
hundred feet. When the great vessel sank 
one end probably rested on the ground before 
the other disappeared, and that would 
account for the smallncss of the suction that 
followed her engulfment. If the vessel were 
standing on end at the place where she now 
lies nearly two-thirds of her would be sticking 
out of the water (No. 3). 

Remembering that the sea-depths about 
Great Britain range from one hundred and 
eighty feet to three hundred feet (with the 
exception of one or two holes off the West of 
Scotland), let us betake ourselves to the 
" bonnie banks " of one of the most beautiful 
of the Scottish lochs. Loch Lomond owes 
much of its fame to the adventures of Rob 
Roy and Bailie Nicol Jar vie, but it has 
another interest often unsuspected by the 
passing tourist, and that is its great depth* 
Just at the foot of lofty Ben Lomond 3 where 
the loch is less than a mile wide, the depth 
is no less than six hundred and twenty-three 
feet. As the loch is no more than twenty- 
three feet above the level of the sea ? its 
deepest part must be twice as low in the 
earth's crust as the lowest part of the 
adjacent seas, If St. Paul's Cathedral wcr^ 
at the bottom of Loch Lomond it would be 
entirely out of sight. If the London Monu- 
ment or the Edinburgh Scott Monument 
stood on top of the golden cross there would 
be at least seventeen feet of water overhead* 
which would allow ample room for the keels 
of the pretty loch steamers (No, 4). 

If the ill-fated Lusilania had been set on 
end in its deepest part she would have 
shown nearly one-fourth of her length above 
the water, as that gigantic vessel was eight 
hundred feet long. If she had been planted 
perpendicularly in Loch Ness, where the 
depth is greater by one hundred and thirty 
feet, the leviathan would have been able to 
show her nfl©f>cftndl^; mc > re (^ ^ 5)* 



3 r 9 

No, 3 —If I be Luutania' w *fe itandina on end at l he plate 

whrfe i be now liei nearly two third i ol her would be stinting 

out of ihe water. 


No, 4. — Compare thii with I he picture ikat appear! at the head 
of thii Articlr. which ihawi (hat the North Sea or the Strait* of 
Dover would only submerge half Si. Paul'i <. aihcdial and would 
fail to covn the Monument. The above illuii ration fhowi the 
uicimi tunic fact that Loch Lomond 14 jo deep that the London 
Monument might be placed on top of St. Paul's without the 
tviface being reached 

Original from 




No 5- — If (he " LuiitAtiift 
p-rpendiCjiarly in Loch N?*t onljr 
would be visible 

were pi in led 
her bows 


No. 6,- So deep ii Lo-h Moral that ever* ihe Scon Metturoeht placed cm ihe 
*' Lmitama"* would not cmzh ihr ■(irf*ce. while if Gemain't Needie itwd oo 
the Eiflel Tower only bjlf tht fcrcaei ^ould be teen. 




For a long time Loch 
Ness had the reputation 
of being the deepest of 
the Scottish lochs, but in 
1879 Mr. J. V, Buchanan, 
F,R*S., showed that Loch 
M r a r was deeper by 
several hundred feet than 
Loch Ness. If we could 
fix the Lusitania erect in 
the depths of Loch Morar 
we should lose sight of 
her altogether. Even if 
the Scott Monument (two 
hundred feet) could be 
stuck above her bow, 
the lightning-rod of the 
monument .would not fret 
the surface of that 
abysmal loch (No, 6). 

The soundings of Loch 
Morar reveal a depth of 
one thousand and se%^en- 
teen feet 3 which is almost 
exactly the same as that 
of Lake Geneva^ but the 
bottom of Lake Geneva 
is higher than the surface 
of Loch Morar. 

The Eiffel Tower itself 
would be completely sub- 
merged in this highland 
loch, and if Cleopatra's 
Needle (seventy feet) 
stood on it half of it 
would be out of sight 
(No, 6). 

Let anyone stand in 
St. Paul's churchyard and 
let his eye travel up the 
steps, columns, dome, and 
hall to the golden cross. 
Then Jet him imagine 
another St. Paul's above 
that again: steps, 
columns, dome, ball, and 
cross. On top of that 
again let him, in imagi- 
nation, set the London 
Monument- Then let him 
suppose himself standing 
at the bottom of Lo<h 
Morar looking up for the 
fisherman's boat floating 
above it all, If he were 
in the boat, leaning o% r er 
the gunwale, peering 
below the surface, he 
would probably discover 

Vol i— Up 

the top of the Monument 
nine feet below (No + 7). 

Take the largest of the 
Pyramids — that of 
Cheops, four hundred and 
sixty feet in height, Set 
St. Paul's on top of it, 
and to complete the pile 
borrow the dome of the 
British Museum (one 
hundred and sixty feet). 
The whole of the dome 
would be washed by the 
waters of Loch Morar on 
a stormy day, as the 
highest part would be 
only seven feet above the 
level in a calm. 

If the Forth Bridge 
(three hundred and 
seventy feet) supported 
St. Paul's, and it again 
supported Cleopatra's 
Needle (seventy feet), 
and Nelson's Monument 
were balanced on the 
point of the Needle, then 
we should be able to 
admire the fine statue 
of the admiral (eighteen 
feet) standing on a 
pedestal four feet 
above the surface of 
the loch. 

Set the Newcastle High 
Bridge one hundred 
and twelve feet) on the 
London Tower Bridge (one 
hundred and thirty-nine 
feet). Let the Crystal 
Palace (one hundred and 
ninety- four feet) supply 
the next storey, and St. 
Paul's (four hundred and 
four feet) the fourth. 
Finally, let the Prince 
Albert Memorial (one 
hundred and seventy 
feet) crown the whole. 
This tremendous pile of 
famous buildings would 
be easily pocketed in 
Loch Morar, leaving only 

No. 7 -StPauI^Calbcdfalmitbt 
be placed on top of itself, and both 
unmounted by I lie London Monu- 
ment* without reaching the turfdcc 
"OITl of LocbMrnsr. 




two feet of the Albert 
Memorial spire to 
indicate to the searcher 
where they were hidden 
(No. 8). 

The English and 
Welsh lakes do not 
approach the Scottish 
lochs in depth. The 
plummet in both Win- 
dermere Lake and 
Llyn Cowlyd goes 
down about two hun- 
dred and twenty feet. 
The Lower Erne in 
Ireland is within four 
feet of the same 
depth. The whole of 
the dome of St. I Mill's 
would stand out im- 
pressively from their 
watery expanse, 
the dome of 
British Museum 
(one hundred 
and sixty feet) 
would not be 
discernible in 
their liquid 
depths. Neither , 
is it likely, 
would the 
Crystal Palace 
(o n e hundred 
and ninety-four 
feet). W a s t- 
water is deeper 
than Winder- 
mere by forty 
feet, and is the deepest 
of the non - Scottish 

The deepest lake in 
the world is Lake 
Baikal. It is three hun- 
dred and thirty miles 
Itfng and five thou- 
sand four hundred and 
thirteen fret deep. It 
is more than twice as 
deep as I^ike Nyussa, 
which is the next in 
drpth. A pagoda of 

thirteen St, Paul's Cathedrals could l>e 
steeped in that amazing bath and nut pve 

No. 8.— Five famaui buildinsi — the Tow.-r Bride*", the New- 
castle Hiflk Brunj<\ lh« C r ysi#l Palace, Sl H PjhiIj, and the 
Albert Memorial if placrd ooe above ibr other, would ^nly 
juit cmcrgi! above the jurfacic of l_och Moral. 

and geological scienc 

any visible indication 
o{ its existence. 

During the excite- 
ment of the Russo- 
Japanese War j when 
Lake Baikal was 
frozen there was much 
traffic over its sur- 
face. In the panic to 
hurry over, a family 
hired a sledge and 
packed themselves 
and their belongings 
on to it and set their 
faces towards the 
farther shore, But 
the ice ^as too thin 
for the load. A crack ! 
A split t A black 
space showed where 
horses, sledge, packs, 
and people had gone 
on a long, long 
journey down- 
wards through 
the icy waters 
in earth's 
brggest hole. 

In conclu- 
sion, it is fitting 
to pay tribute 
to the me- 
mory of Sir 
John Murray, 
the pioneer of 
British lake 
II i s laborious 
and honour- 
able career came to 
a sudden and tragic 
end owing to a 
motor accident a few 
months ago. After 
failing to get the 
Government to under- 
take bat hyme trie 
surveys, it is to his 
credit that he under- 
took the responsi- 
bility himself, with 
the result that the 
world of geographical 
e is his great dtbtor 

by Google 

Original from 




^££ F ever 


was a 


t^ta J distract 
ing man 
to talk with when 
he wanted to avoid 
giving a straight 
answer, it was old 
Barney Mulloy ; 
and if ever a lad 
had good reason to 
demand one, it was 
Terence (J Byrne. 

Now, Barney was a widower with only one 
daughter, and when young Terence came 
courting hcr^ the course of true love ran 
smoothly until he spoke of the wedding, 
and then it ran into a bog. Barney would 
discourse by the hour on the state of the 
crops and the country or of love and 
marriage in general, but whenever Terence 
broached the subject of most importance to 
him, he would answer neither one thing nor 
the other, and the most that Terence could 
get him to say was, " L'ave it be for a bit." 

'* L6ok at Jacob/ 1 argued Barney, one 
day when Terence pressed for an answer, 
kl Seven years did he wait, and never a whisht 
out of him," 

" I've looked at him many a time hung 
up in me Aunt MeGivcrn's parlour/ 5 replied 
Terence, with warmth. " He's a hook-nosed 
culd spalpeen tendin' sheep f with a beard like 
a billy-goat and a gown like a bedspread — a 
hundred and fifty, if a day, when the pictur' 
was took. What's seven years to a man that 
counts them bv hundreds, would vou tell 
me ? " 

11 He's hung in your Aunt McGivem's 
parlour, is he ? " asked Barney , with sudden 
interest, " I don't mind his pictur', but, 
then, never a foot have I set in her house 
since poor Tim — God rest his sowl ! — was 
bid in his grave. 'Tis grievin' she is for 
him yet ? " he added, in a casual way. 

Sydney Preston 


" Grieving in- 
deed \ n smiled 
Terence, a thought 
creeping into his 
mind. u Tis her- 
self that's fair dis- 
traded with 

"Men!" ex- 
claimed Barney, 
" And it's not yet 
a year since Tim 
died ! " 

"With hired 
men, I mean," explained Terence, eyeing 
hm keenly. H Twas but yesterday she 
said to me that a farm is no place for a widdy 
to run." 

iL I'm one with her there/* responded 
Barney., a queer^ dreaming look coming into 
his eyes. " Terence," he asked, lowering 
his voice, " would you think by this time 
she'd begin to take notice ? " 

H Notice enough," replied Terence, with 
an innocent smile ; " there's nothin' escapes 
her. * All men are liars,' she says to me, 
* and the rest of them fools/ " 

" Tare an* ages I " ejaculated Barney, 

" Hired men, I take tit/ 1 explained Terence ; 
" for at the time she said it she was after 
ravin' the churn to drive cows out of the 
garden. * I do be vexed/ says she to me 
1 by a thousand and one things a day that 
a man could look after.' " 

Without saying more Terence hurried 
away, a plan to gain his own ends leaping into 
his mind. The next morning he rose early, 
dressed himself in his Ust. drove to Rock- 
more, bought a licence to marry Norah 
Mulloy, and an hour later stepped out at the 
gate of the Widow McGivem's farm-house 
with his heart thumping excitedly under the 
document in his breast-pocket. Presently 
'ie was chatting spc-iably with his aunt in 
her parlour^ JtatttRiftg - with an appearance 

3 2 4 


of sympathetic concern as she poured forth 
a tale of her petty trials, 

" Ochone ! " she ejaculated at length with 
a sigh, " 'tis terrible hard to be a widdy. 1 ' 

" I've no doubt it is," returned Terence, 
with a shake of his head. *' And isn't it 
quare to think there'd never be widdies or 
widdiers if there never was weddin's ? " 

" Sure ? nayt her there would/' she reflected f 
looking surprised. 

1L And stranger/' went on Terence , re- 
flectively, " that the remedy in each case is 
the same aa the cause*" 

*' Why, how can that be, would you tell 
me ? " she inquired, 

" Faix, don't you see ? " replied Terence, 
with guileless ^ wide-open eyes ; l< Me wife 
couldn't I>e a widdy if I wasn't her man, 
and 1 couldn't be a widdier if she wasn't me 
wife. Likewise j if me wife was a widdy, and 
meself was a widdier^ and each of us took 
another, 'twould illustrate me contention." 

" Did annyone ever!" exclaimed the 
Widow McGivern, sliaking with laughter, 
11 Terence,, you're takin' 1'ave of your senses ! 
Don't you see that yez both would be dead ? " 

Terence's jaw dropped ; he stared at the 
picture of Jacob with a puzzled frown, and 
rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 

11 Be dad t you're right ! " he shouted, at 
length. " Of course we'd be dead, sure 
enough. But hould on for a minute/' he 
added, his face lighting up. " I have it, 
Twas a poor illustration^ and here's a tetter 
one. Barney Mulloy is a widdier — d'you 
see that , now ? ,J 

l * I do," she assented, her eyes twinkling 
with mirth. *' Tis aisy enough, Terence, 
if you don't marry him after he's dead. 7 ' 

" Barney's a widdier,'* repeated Terence, 
solemnly, t( as 1 know to me sorrow, for that's 
why he's houldin' back on Norah and me, 
and her too tender-hearted to 1'ave him, the 
darlin' ! Barney's a widdier, and you/' 
he added, with a. pitying break in his voice — 
11 you are a widdy; ' 

" That I am/' she sighed. *' and it's me 
that knows it. Poor Tim ! " 

" That bein' the case,' 1 continued Terence, 
rolling his eyes uneasily, " you T d nayther of 
you 1m- one or the other if both of yez — 1 meai h 
each of yez wouldn't be both— merciful 
Hivens ! what do I mean, annyway ? 1J 

" Whatever you mean/' snapped his aunt, 
her face growing redder, li you'd better mean 
somethin' different, I'd have yoi; lo know. 
It's my opinion, Terence," sh? added, ' 4 you've 
been takin 1 a drop/ 3 

Divil the one this month back ; but me 

wits is wool-gathering there's no doubt atalL 
Betwixt one thing and another, and what 
Barney Mulloy let out to me yesterday, I'm 
fair bewildered." 

" What's thac ? " she queried, expectantly. 

Terence lowered his voice. 

" He ? s in love/' he replied, 

" He's never ! And who would she be ? " 

(i Whisht ! I mustn't let out her name. 
But he tould me himself that me and Norah 
could marry to-morrow if ■" 

"If what ? " she demanded, giving him a 

" You'd be vexed if I tould you." 

" More like if you didn't- Go on, Terence 

il Me and Norah could marry to-morrow 
if the one Barney wants would have him." 

" Hivens abov* ! Who would she be ? " 

" She's a widdy, I'll tell you that much/' 
said Terence, with a smile and a wink. 

" A widdy," she cried, looking flustered, 
" and me none the wiser. Why, lad, you've 
drove all the way from Rockmore, and I 
never bid you step into the kitchen for a 
cup of tay and a herrin\ Come, now, and 
dviw up; the pot's on the fire, and 'tis 
yourself that looks a bit fagged*" 

" Tis no wonder/' said Terence, as he 
seated himself at the table, " for with what's 
on me mind + I could nayther slape last night 
nor eat this mornin'. There's a dale before 
me this day," 

14 And the first thing is to tell me the name 
of the widdy," 

" Then you must never let on that I 
tould," said Terence^ between two bites of 
a herring. " Tis yourself, and no other/ 1 

" Glory be to the saints ! " she cried, try- 
ing not to look flattered, " if ever I heard 
of the likes ! Sure, Terence, Barney Mulloy 
never gave me as much as a word or a look 
of the kind." 

** I know it/' replied Terence, * l for he 
tould me as much. All the same, he's dis- 
tracted with love, and the r'ason he locks 
it up in his breast is as plain as the eyes of 
a 'tatie that hasn't got sprouted. It's a 
dilicate matter to mention, and I've tould 
more than I meant, so it's meself had better 
be goiiiV 

;i Not a step will you take from this house 
without tellin' the rest/' she declared, whisk- 
ing a little brown jug out of the cupboard 
and placing it on the table, u A little drop 
of the crathur' to top off with ? ' she 
coaxed him* li Twas your poor Uncle 

tl God reSrhJpiSQMfti'hsaid Terence, smack- 



3 2 5 


ing [lis lips. " 'Twas himself that knew the legs. And If his tongue got a small trifle 

rale stuff." loose, 'twas always the pleasantest kind of 

"That he did/' she returned, beaming diseoorse.^Oriqinal from 

with pride, *' and him never the worse in his ^ er 1WJ(!FfOfl 1 0f ! tf^RSPFP down on ^ c 



tabic, leaned back in his chair, and regarded 
it with smiling intentness, 4l Tis a quare 
fancy," he said, musingly , " that just popped 
into me mind. Uncle Tim, I mind, had ever 
an eye for a skirt, I'm wonder in'," he 
debated, half closing his eyes, with his head 
oh one side, " if, where he is, he's a widdier 

The Widow McGivcm tipped over lier 
cup with a splash, '■ Saints above ! T ' she 
ejaculated, * ( you may welt call it a quare 
fancy to spake of a corpse as a widdier," 

" It's plain to me mind," said Terence, 
slipping lower in the chair and raising his 
voice, li that if a man's wife is his widdy, 
her man's her widdier, body and sowL 
And if Uncle Tim has the luck to rache 
Hiven to-day, by to-morrow, ten to one, he J ll 
be makin' up to the best-lookin' angel 
around him. -Bedad ! " he went on, closing 
his eyes, with his head thrown back, Jt a day 
up there is the same as a year, and I'm took 
with a vision this minute. I can see him 
as plain as the jug on the table, the rogue ! 
He's looking right now at a young one that 
looks as if she spent seven days of the week 
in preenin' her feathers. 1 ' 

The Widow McGivem grabbed the brown 
jug and slammed it into the cupboard. tl 1*11 
tache you," she cried, wrathfully, "The 
likes of a lad like you to have visions ! 
Take thai I " And she smote him a hearty 
slap on the ear* 

Terence opened his eyes and sat up with 
a jerkj staring about the room in bewilder- 
ment. i£ Where am I ? T ' he asked, staring 
harder and rubbing his eyes. " Is that me 
own Aunt McGivem ? Sure, I seem to be 
wakin' out of a slap© or a trance ; but now 
I mind you axed me to have a cup of tay. 
That I will, and with pleasure." 

" Musha ! " cried his aunt, €t the drink's 
gone to his head ! " 

li Drink ! " echoed Terence, leaping out 
oi his chair. *' Where is it ? I sec none." 

■" Heaven help us. his mind's brcakin' 
loose ! Of course you don't see it, Terence 
dear, but try to remember. Look at them 
herrin' bones. Don't you mind pickin 

Terence scanned the plate she held out. 
*' Id never take me oath that I did/' he 
replied, with a dubious frown, " nor yet 
that i didn't, not beirT one to treasure up 
relies. If you say them was mine, I'll 
belave you, and if you say they wasn't, I'll 
do the same, provided you don't tell me both 
at wanst. But 'tis the first time I ever was 
presented with the bones of a herrin'. Belike/' 

he added, 4I you could spare the Paves of 
the t ay-pot as well 7 ' 

The Widow McGivem could no longer 
hold back her laughter, and presently Terence 
was repeating his breakfast of herring and 
tea, while she pledged herself never to reveal 
anything he might deign to tell her about 
Barney Mulloy, 

l " Its this way/' said Terence, giving 
in : " he's distracted with love, but there's 
a dilicate question houldin' him back from 
sp'akin 1 his mind. Do what he will, it's 
beyond him to remember if 'twas the week 
before Uncle Tim was took off, or the week 
after, that he kilt the black sow. Not a word 
now, or I'll drop the end of the thread, and 
it's a daie aisier to lose than to hould. If 
he knowed the black sow was kilt the week 
after Uncle Tim, his mind would be aisy ; 
but if T twas the week before, then he's a 
sinner ; for 'twas while he was dressin' 
black Bridget it come on him strong that 
he loved you, Indade, his mind went into 
a kind of a trance while he scraped off the 
bristles, and what he saw was himself on his 
knees axin' you to have him, then both of 
ycz stundin' up for the weddin\ him and you 
startin' off honeymoonin' in iligant style, 
him in his best and yourself res p linden t in 
silks and satins- What troubled him after 
was the fear that love struck him when you 
was a wife instead of a widdv. * Terence/ 
says he to me only yesterday, ' Tm houldin' 
on to meself till a year from the day Tim was 
laid in the grave ; then/ says he,, * Til be 
free to ax her the question/ " 

The Widow McGivern's eyes opened wide, 
but her mouth opened wider* " Never have 
I heard a tale to bate that ! " she exclaimed. 
u For Harney's a dale more sensible in his 
talk than yourself. Is it the truth you're 
after tellin', Terence? 7 ' she demanded, 

" That it isn't," he replied, airily. " There's 
a word here and there, belike, to be bettered, 
for me memory's poor, and 'tis hard to grasp 
hould of such a dilicate point ; but if it was 
me, divil the bit would I care when Bridget 
was kilt/ 5 

" You wouldn't ? " 

'• That I wouldn't/' declared Terence, with 
a glance at the cupboard. " No more than 
takin 1 a drop of the crathur to top off the 
herrin ." 

" Troth, then,"' said she> with a toss 
of her head, ik that s out of the question, 
for there's not as much as a drop within 

"Tare an^afia'f^^iaculated Terence, 




astounded. " 111 take me oath that the little 

brown jug " 

u Whut little brown jug ? " 

" Uncle Tim's. Don't vou mind " 

" I remember a trance/ 1 she s:iid T sharply, 
and for as much as a minute Terence was 

* Til be goinY'he remarked , pushing back 
his chair ; then lie drew from his pocket the 
document he bought in Rock more and passed 
it over to his aunt. 

u The licence to wed ! " she exclaimed, in 
amazement. " And when is the weddin' ? " 

"Hiven knows/' responded Terence, " but 
not me, except for a sign that come to me 
drivin' down from Rock more. I was won- 
derin' what possessed me to buy a licence 
before the time was fixed, and I said to meself 
out loud, ' It may be a year/ I says, and all 
of a sudden t the mare give a snort and stood 
still in her tracks, then she turned her head 
and eyed me reproachful, and says she, as 
pla'n as a person, ' It may be a day/ I was 
that took aback by the words in her whinny 
that 'twas full half a minute before I could 
speak ; then I says, * A day is it, Molly ? ' 
And you'd scarcely belave me, but she bobbed 
her head twice and went on contented." 

"Did an n yon e ever ! " laughed the Widow 
McGivern. H To thin!: of a mare sayin' 
words ! M 

" She said them but once, and a horse may 
be gifted with talk as well as an ass ; but 
whether it's true or not, me mind is made 
up that not a day longer will f wait for the 
weddin\ And if you'll have Barney, I'm 
thinkin' he'll want to be wedded no later 
than me." 

" Hi ven help me!" she protested, breath- 
ing hard, " but it's terrible suddent ! " 

11 That it is," agreed Terence ; lI it's 
sudden whenever it comes, 1 kc death and 
the r!nt." 

n Och, wirra I " she wailed, u last year's 
bunmt's ould-fash:oned ? and e new one's all 
black for poor T.m, Of coorse there's me hat 
with the green silk trimmin' and the red os- 
trich feather, but it's a trifle young for me 
age, don't you think, Terence ? " 

* Young for your age ! " laughed Terence, 
11 Faix T there's few would belave you've 
turned thirty, and ould Barney " 

14 Ould Harney, indade ! " she clipped in. 
11 I'd have you to know there's a good twinty 
years ahead of him still." 

" Thirty > more like," declared Terence ; 
" for once wedded to you 'tis younger he'll 
get every day/' 

4t Sure, I feel like a gomeral/' she smiled, 

11 to talk about weddin', and him never sayin J 
so much as a word." 

u He'll be after axin* you in less than an 
hour/' Terence asserted, rising, "for I'm 
off to tell him you'll have him/' 

ik You'll never," she protested, " or I 
won't, You may say, if you like, that I 
tould you 'twas the week after Tim d ed, 
God bless him ! that Bridget was kilt, for 
well I mind the squealin' I took for a banshee 
till Pat Keely come by," 

"I'll tell him that much, then/' said 
Terence, as he hastened away. 

The Widow MrGi vein's house stands on 
a hill j two m:les by the road from Barney 
Mulloy's, though straight across country 
the distance is much shorter ; and as Terence 
speeded his mare down the hill he fervently 
prayed that his tongue might be as nimble 
with Barney as with Ins aunt. 

" Tis inspired that I am," he said to 
himself, with a chuckle ; tl and divil a lie 
am 1 telling but just givin* wings to me 
fancy. A rale lie, I take it, is mostly set 
overnight to rise and baked in the oven of 
sin. I'm a vessel, a mouthpiece, not knowin' 
one minute what's comin' the next, Anny- 
way, I'll confess and do penance, if need be ; 
but for this day there's nothin 1 I'll stop at," 

Rut when he got to Barney Mulloy's, it 
looked as if he'd never begin, for Barney's 
mind was far from the Widow McGivern, 
There he stood in the l>anvyard, deep in 
thought beside a pen, while the red-and- 
white heifer inside leaped and pranced as 
if to show off her agility. Up she went with 
a snort, coming down with her four legs spread 
out like a saw-horse, then stood staring at the 
two men, awaiting applause. 

*' Terence," said Barney, u she's got to come 
out of that pen and into the crate, or 111 
be late for the market at Rockmore and be 
losin* the sale of her. I mind the time when 
Id have tucked the ikes of her under one 
arm, hut whal with lur capers and the plum- 
bagy in the small of me back, I'm thinkin' 
that four hands '11 be better than two," 

" I'll help you, with pleasure" said Terence, 
rather taken aback, but instantly planning 
to prevent the trip to Rockmore. u But 
first I'd have a few words " 

Barney frowned. %i I\e no time to waste 
this morninY' he snapped, i4 Twas but 
yesterday I tould you to Tave it be for a while, 
and here you be at it again. Grab hould of 
the baste, and stop blatherin'." 

The words were scarcely spoken when 
Terence, in a quick, flash of temper. leaped 
into thepeiP 1 ' 1 




** Aisy, now, Terence ! " cried Barney, 
'mistrusting thr gleam of his eye ; but the 
words were unheeded. li Be gintle ! " he 
shouted. u Far Gods sake be aisy 1 " But 
round the pen went Terence, while Barney 
implored him to stop, with the calf in a 
frenzy of terror eluding his grasp. At last 
he jumped out of the pen and stepped up to 
Barney, his eyes 

11 ' Be aisv ! ' n 
he quoted .wrath- 
full>\ 4l Is it 
'gintle 1 you 
want me to be? 
What am I but 
aisy and gintle f 
You bid me grab 
h o u I d of t h e 
baste 5 and then 
youkapeshoutin 7 
to stop." 

" Twould take 
the divil himself 
to tell which of 
the two of yez 
h o u 1 d of the 
other. You mane 
well enough, 
Terence, me boy, 
but you don't 
allow for the 
narves of the 
baste. Whisht 
now^pake lower, 
and don't move 
both of us won't 
kape her from 
runnin' amuck.' 1 

" Whatever is 
that ? ,J inquired { 
Terenr t\ sud- 
denly calm. 

" Look at her 
now! " exclaimed 
Barney. "Mother 
of Hivcn, I see 
by the cork of 
her eye and the 
lift of her tail 
there's trouble 

ahead if we don't use her pintle, But 
runnin' amuck ? Let me see, it 1 * somcthin* 
like this : a notion, we'll say, sazes you to do 
somethin' to-day you couldn't do yesterday } 
and wouldn't to-morrov\ 1J 

" I see/* said Terence t thinking hard* 

" And when the notion is strong," went 
on Barney, " it works like a rneraclc. That 
calf now, if I m not desaved. once she got 
started, would le'p over the fences and off 
like a deer," 

(i In that case," said Terence, sitting 
d'Hvn on the crate, li well take every pre- 
caution, and lave her a bit till she gets over 

U||>OW M^.lVKKA*S "' 

the fright. In the meantime, IYc a few 
words to say*" 

1 You're at it again/' sighed Barney, 
shaking his head* u Terence," he went on, 
as he settled down and drew out his pipe, 



lt And harder/' said Terence, breathing 
hard j M to he a widdy ; and worse to be single, 
with no chance of bein' one or the other/' 

i( Hi veil above ! " ejaculated Barney, puff- 
ing away at his pipe* 4i What does a lad 
like you know about widdies ? ** 

li This much/ 1 replied Terence, nodding 
sagely : "a widdy may die for love of a man